


The Greater Good

by insiga



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter not a Potter, How Do I Tag, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Parent Severus Snape, Parent Voldemort (Harry Potter), Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:35:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 56,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25795978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insiga/pseuds/insiga
Summary: “He has a point though, Ron.”“Who, Harry? Of course, he’s right! Just look at what they’ve done.”“No, not Harry, Malfoy. What he stands to gain through his inheritance is very important to Wizarding society." Hermione placed her book back on her lap, thumbing the curve of the spine as she spoke. "You’ll stand to gain quite a bit too, Harry. Or so I’d imagine. The Potter name is an Ancient and Noble one as well."Just one conversation can accidentally dig up a long-buried secret. When Harry goes to find out his inheritance, he discovers much more than he can imagine.Just who is Harry Potter and did he ever really exist in the first place?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Severus Snape/Voldemort
Comments: 200
Kudos: 858





	1. An Extra Seat

**Author's Note:**

> "The potential of Greater Good goes right along with the potential for greater evil."

Dull green eyes looked out the partially fogged windows of the scarlet Hogwarts Express as it swiftly made its way towards smog covered London. Green fields and shrubbery appeared brown and grey when contrasted with the bleak sky that perfectly matched the somber mood of the compartment.

Harry Potter sat with his head resting against the window, uncaring of how the bumps and jerks made his head rattle against the glass, and his knees curled up towards his chin. Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley joined him in the silent cabin. Neither knowing what to say or how to break the quiet. Ron was fidgeting with a chocolate frog wrapper, the crinkling noise catching an occasional glare from Hermione as she tried to focus in the tome on her hands.

However, Ron noticed that her eyes had been skimming over the same page for the past half hour and it was unlikely that she was taking in anything that she was reading. Her attempts to distract herself from Harry’s gloomy demeanor were failing just as bad as Ron’s, though he couldn’t say he was trying too hard if the multiple twisted candy wrappers laid next to him had anything to say about it. Hearing a soft huff from next to him, Ron glanced over at his best mate. He couldn’t imagine what he was feeling now. Ron turned his eyes back to the wrapper in his hands, contemplating the events that summed up the last few weeks of their fifth year.

Ron thought Harry had it hard during term, being unable to speak with Sirius, even through letters. And with the trouble with Umbridge, Harry was constantly tense and angry. Add on his nightmares and visions and Harry was a wreck. The incident with Ron’s father and Nagini had flown Harry off the handle. Neither Hermione nor Ron could convince Harry that he wasn’t responsible for keeping everyone around him safe. He could only do so much to help, they still were only students after all.

For a while, Ron resented Hermione for pushing Harry into opening the Defense Association. Looking back, Ron could see the logic of it. Fudge and his lackeys, his brother included, were leaving an entire wizarding generation open for attack and stripping them of any threat they may have that could be utilized against the Ministry. They needed to fight back against it and prepare for the coming war, a war that most refuse to acknowledge.

They had given all of those in the DA the tools they would need to at least protect themselves and be a bit of a danger on a dual front. They had blossomed under Harry’s teaching, though his friend had not realized it. Ron wasn’t surprised when Harry told him he asked to be an Auror in his career meeting, however, Ron did think that he would make a fantastic DADA teacher. The results of the DA were only proof of Harry’s talent, and given the fact they could only meet once or twice a week in secret, the results were even more impressive.

However, the strain took its toll on Harry.

Oh, Harry never spoke of it and tried his best to hide it, but there was only so much you could hide from your best mate that spends every waking second with you. Harry would already come back from the Dursley’s worn down and considerably lighter and thinner than when he had left. So much so that Ron had to wonder how none of the adults, especially his mother had never said anything about it to Dumbledore or anyone else in the Order. But, normally, Harry would start packing back on the weight and looking healthier for the always present end-of-the-year-disaster. Then he would be shipped off again and the whole ordeal would restart.

Harry didn’t get his chance to recuperate this year, however. He was under constant attack from all ends. The Headmaster’s distance only exacerbated the situation, making Harry volatile and explosive when pushed the wrong direction. He became frantic with worry. Some part of Ron told him that Harry was scrambling, thinking that the Headmaster's withdrawal was a sign that everyone was getting ready to cut-and-run.

The nail in the coffin was the loss of Sirius. Ron hadn’t seen Sirius fall through the veil and he honestly wouldn’t know how to feel if he had seen it, but Harry had talked to him afterwards in private. When they were packing their trunks before heading towards the train, Harry had spoke of his anger and grief briefly. He had cast the Crucistus curse on Bellatrix, but it failed. Harry told him how useless he felt in that moment, unable to avenge his Godfather and too caught up in his despair to even keep her from getting away.

Ron was more concerned for his friend because Harry seemed more distraught by the fact that he wasn’t able to inflict excruciating pain on Bellatrix, rather than him being upset over having used the curse at all.

That was the only time Harry had spoke to either Ron or Hermione about what had happened at the Ministry other than telling them about the prophecy. Ron hadn’t known what to say then either, it turned out that Harry wasn’t looking for a response as he picked up his trunk and started heading out the door. Ron was afraid to see what the Dursley’s would do to Harry in this fragile state. He knew they didn’t treat him right and he knew that some part of Harry wouldn’t be the same once he came back to Hogwarts after the summer ends.

The compartment door suddenly slammed open and the doorway was filled by none other than Draco Malfoy. He had a slight smirk on his face. Odd considering Ron was pretty sure his father had been captured during the raid on the Ministry and was facing a trial for Azkaban soon. Flanking him on either side were Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Behind them, Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson leaned against the walls of the other compartment.

“Well isn’t this a grim little group.” Malfoy started, his amusement showing in his voice. Harry took his head off the glass and craned his neck to look at him. “I suppose I should thank you, Potter.” Hermione put down her book, finally giving up on trying to take anything in. She shared a wary glance with Ron as they both looked towards Malfoy.

“Without your quick action to save your Godfather at the ministry, the Black line may have still existed.” Harry took a deep breath, his throat catching as he tried to make a sound. Only producing a soft choking sound that had Malfoy’s smirk growing. “As it stands there is no direct descendant to take on the role of head of house for the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. Normally the title would fall to my uncle Rodolphus, Aunt Bellatrix’s husband. However, as they both are escaped convicts the name falls to my mother and father, gaining the Malfoy name another ten seats bringing our total to a grand 37. We are soon to have a monopoly over Wizengamot.”

Malfoy’s grin turns vicious and predatory, though Harry sits still, unaffected by his posturing.

“So, thank you, Potter. You have helped us successfully out vote the other houses and secure my father’s freedom from Azkaban as well as all of our,” He pauses, looking for the right word. “Associates. I’m sure I know of someone who will be most pleased with the outcome of your escapade.” Harry’s mouth parted slightly but he made no sound other than a sharp intake of air before closing it again and turning towards the window once more.

“What’s wrong, Potter?” Malfoy said, leaning forward a bit into the compartment. “You don’t want to talk to me? That’s fine, I’d rather not try and decipher your idiotic babbling at the moment.” He leaned back and made a move to step back into the hall when Hermione chuckled softly, catching Malfoy’s attention. “And what’s so funny to you Mudblood?” He sneered, earning a harsh ‘Watch it’ from Ron.

Hermione grinned at Malfoy’s annoyed expression.

“You are obviously assuming too much. You haven’t even asked your mother if all this is true. Which I’ll save you the embarrassment.” The blond looked confused at Hermione’s words. “While Sirius was the Head of the Black family, he had struck all other bloodlines from the inheritance. Therefore, making anyone with blood ties to the Black family unable to take on the Black name unless there were no other options.” Malfoy’s eyes widened, his pale skin losing what little color he had left. “Harry, being Sirius’ Godson, is the only eligible successor for the House of Black, as both Narcissa and Bellatrix are unable to claim the title. So those extra ten seats you were bragging about actually go to Harry, bringing his seats to 23 and yours remains at 27.”

Malfoy’s mouth opens as he is about to come up with a retort when Ron cuts in.

“And those extra 4 seats you have could be outvoted by the Longbottom’s and the Weasley’s. You’re going to have to try harder than that Malfoy.” Ron smirked, feeling victorious with Hermione’s revelation and his own added input, however small it may be. Draco frowned looking back at Harry, who had turned to stare at Hermione after her speech.

“You best be careful, Potter. And keep your friends in check.” This caused the trio to frown at the blonde’s words. “You don’t want to be making enemies with too many of us. You’ll find yourself backed into a corner.” With those last few cryptic words, Malfoy left the compartment and his group trailed behind him.

“What a lousy thing to say. He thinks he’s all-important because of what he stands to inherit from his father and his filthy little Death Eater hands.” Ron says in a huff, tossing the wrapper in his hands to the side. Hermione frowned, looking contemplative of his words. “I can’t believe he really thought that he’d be able to pull that over. It wouldn’t be fair!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up.

“Since when was anything the Ministry had to do with fair?” Harry finally spoke, his voice rough from disuse over the past few hours. The two looked at him before falling back into silence. It didn’t take long before Hermione spoke again.

“He has a point though, Ron.”

“Who, Harry? Of course, he’s right! Just look at what they’ve done.”

“No, not Harry, Malfoy. What he stands to gain through his inheritance is very important to Wizarding society. He’ll gain family magic, monies, and properties. Other House alliances like the Greengrass name and the seats of other dark noble families only help him.” Hermione placed her book back on her lap, thumbing the curve of the spine as she spoke. “He will be very formidable once he becomes the head of the House of Malfoy. You’ll stand to gain quite a bit too, Harry. Or so I’d imagine. The Potter name is an Ancient and Noble one as well. Though you may not hold as many seats, your family has gained far more loyalties with other Houses than the Malfoy’s. You might want to start looking into what you stand to inherit once you come of age.” The cabin once again fell into silence. No one felt much like carrying on the conversation. Both Ron and Hermione could feel Harry’s depression worsen as they reflected on Malfoy’s words about Sirius.

Once again Ron worried about the state his friend would be in when he saw him next.

Harry felt like a ton of bricks had been resting on his shoulders ever since his conversation with the Headmaster before the end of term. The Prophecy spinning around in his head repeatedly, along with the memory of Sirius and the veil. He was unable to sleep anymore, even though the nightmares and visions sent by Voldemort had stopped, for now, he still faced the problem of nightmares his own mind had conjured up, apparently unsatisfied with only torturing him while he was awake.

He noticed that he always had faint tremors in his limbs no matter the amount of chocolate his friends and Remus shoved in his face. He also had taken to casting glamors over his face to hide the dark bruises under his eyes and the pale pallor of his complexion that would give a Malfoy a run for their money. He dreaded the summer with the Dursley’s, only for the fact that he knew he would have a hard time keeping up with all the chores they would no-doubt be chomping at the bit to load off on him. That alone would make for a hard summer.

Not to mention the new heavy-handed treatment Uncle Vernon gave him after the conversation Remus and other members of the Order had with the Dursley’s when they picked him up from the train station. Harry had barely gotten all of his things put away before Vernon snatched him by the hair and dragged him up to his room to give him a ‘lecture’ about how his Godfather was no longer there to threaten the Dursley’s with his freakish magic. Apparently, the Dursley’s had been lacking in discipline all his life, as if the scars and malnutrition didn’t tell a story of its own.

As the days went on, letters from Hermione and Ron waned. Harry couldn’t find it in him to open or read any of the letters, let alone reply and hold a conversation. When he was left in his room, he’d just sit on the floor by the window and flip through the pages of the few textbooks he managed to sneak out of his trunk before Vernon locked it up. He wouldn’t really read the words, mainly just look at the illustrations and enjoy the mindless task of just turning a page.

He didn’t know when he was supposed to be going back to the Wizarding World. He knew that he’d have to wait until he got a letter from Dumbledore announcing when he would be coming to pick him up and either bring him to the Burrow or the Order headquarters. However, Harry wasn’t excited to return to either. The boisterous environment of the Burrow seemed like it would crush Harry’s already cracked façade, Molly would see through him in an instant and he would be forced into another conversation with Arthur and Molly. He knew they meant well but Molly was overbearing, and Arthur was awkward with personal conversations, tripping over himself and twisting his words around.

Grimmauld Place seemed to be the worse option though. There he knew he would see so many things that would remind him of his deceased Godfather and his failure to make up for his stupid blunder. He would have to walk into that house and sleep next to his old room and see the black burn from where his name had been struck from the family tree by his own mother and the Gryffindor décor that he loved to put up, only to spite the Black family portraits hanging in the house.

And Kreacher.

Harry was sure that upon sight, Harry would try to strangle the house elf. His anger at being deceived by the vexed elf was palpable. His anger at Kreacher was almost equal to his anger at Bellatrix. But when it came down to it, Harry knew that he was most mad at himself, for not knowing that he was being deceived. Tricked by Voldemort, by his own mind, by Kreacher, by a trick of the light in a broken hand mirror that gave him a sliver of hope and then replaced it with his own green eyes, by his rage as he threw away the final gift he received from Sirius.

So, he tries not to think of where he may be going and what he might be feeling when he arrives there and sets his mind to the tasks, he is given by the Dursley’s. Deep cleaning the kitchen, repainting the fences, washing the windows, the laundry, cleaning the bedrooms, washing Vernon’s car, cooking the meals. He did whatever odd requests they came up with and never breathed a word the whole time. Still Vernon found things to complain about and blame Harry for. Like a spot on the carpet from Dudley’s popsicle or a failed contract because Harry’s freakish magic latched onto Vernon and made the contract fall through.

Vernon made sure to carry through on his promise to try and beat the freak out of him.

Harry wasn’t sure if it was working or not.

It’s as Harry is pushing away the aching pain in his back while he weeds the flower bed that Aunt Petunia approaches him.

“We’re going on a trip over the week. I convinced Vernon not to keep you upstairs, but you need to have these done before we get back.” She handed him a thick folded piece of paper. Harry had noticed that, while Vernon had become harsher with him, Petunia became less strict, though it didn’t seem like the right word to use. “Don’t make a scene. I don’t want to hear anything from the neighbors when we come back.” However, some things never change, Harry mused as he took the paper and she marched off to the car where Vernon and Dudley were already waiting. The car pulled out of the drive without a glance back and they were gone.

Harry shook his head slowly and returned to his task.

By the time he was finished, it was the middle of the day and he made his way back to his room and sat down at the desk, next to the pile of letters he had received over the summer. The stack had stopped growing after Hermione’s final letter three days beforehand. Hedwig hooted softly as Harry kept his eyes on the stack.

He briefly contemplated getting back up and starting on the Dursley’s list of chores. Ignoring the pile was a lot easier than facing the questions and sympathies of his friends. He couldn’t handle the constant questions. ‘How are you?’, ‘Do you need anything?’. Things that anyone would ask in the face of someone else’s tragedy. Something to say when no one could ever know what to say to heal the wound. When nothing could ever heal it. He knew they meant well but their concerns and queries just served to remind him of what was lost and tear out the sloppy stitches over the gash.

However, he knew the concerns of his friends steamed from their concern for Harry himself, not the wellbeing of the Boy-Who-Lived or the Golden Child. That fact alone is what drew him to open the first letter in the pile.

Hermione’s handwriting was oddly elegant for a muggleborn, considering that when she wrote on parchment, she preferred to use a quill rather than a ballpoint pen. Harry had been introduced to quills at the same time his bushy-haired friend had, but still couldn’t get a handle on how to write neatly after five years at it. Hermione, however, had taken to the odd custom like a fish to water and gracefully made her letters loop and flow in order without a drop of misplaced ink anywhere on the page. She even dated her letters in the top right corner.

Harry found himself amused at how, while even just reading her letters, he could hear her voice and tone as she scathed her latest reading material, a biography on an Egyptian alchemist that had written something about handmade objects. Harry never really knew how to follow her rambles, either in person or on paper. Apparently, she was making a fuss because the author had mistranslated some of the alchemist’s work and the whole thesis was thrown off. She ranted about how she wasted a whole week only for the author to reveal his translation and for Hermione to determine that she had stuffed her brain with _phony facts_.

She spoke of many different things in her letters, none of which asked or hinted about how he was doing. While most might find that rude or inconsiderate, Harry found it like a bit of fresh air. He had been too worried about these letters and they were bringing him a light-hearted joy that he had been void of since the end of- well he couldn’t truly remember when. Hermione’s tales of her misadventures at the petting zoo and her close encounter with a rather grumpy little lamb had Harry chuckling and eager to read more about her activities. She had always been one for words, rather good at telling a story and making it interesting.

Ron’s letters however had been more of the same that he had received in the past. He grumbled about de-gnomeing the garden and Ginny’s odd behaviors ‘ _I’ll just never understand girls, Harry, I’ll tell you that much._ ’ The only thing missing was his wild stories about the pranks the twins would use him as a test subject for.

‘ _They got that shop they were talking about! Grand Opening in Diagon Alley real soon. If I can manage, I’ll try to convince mom to get you out of the Dursley’s and be there for it. Mom was baffled when they told her that they wouldn’t be going back. Threw a right fit, she did. Screamed about getting a formal education and all sorts._

 _‘I think she was more confused as to how they got the money. Truth be told, I’m curious as well. I know that other classmates would buy something from them here or there but that shouldn’t have gotten them more than an expensive trip to Honeydukes._ ’

The last bit almost had Harry rolling. He hadn’t told either of his friends what he had done with the winnings from the tournament and oddly, they hadn’t asked. He was happy the twins got the chance to open up their own shop, he was sure that they would soon be one of the best joke shops around. They sure did have a knack and passion for it.

Harry slowly made his way through the pile, the musings and rambles of his friends making him chuckle and lifting his spirits. He found himself wondering how he could have ever doubted his friends would have known exactly what to do to make him feel better. They have known him for over half a decade now, lived with him in the tower for most of that time.

As he placed the last letter from Ron down, he realized that he had only one letter left. It was from Hermione. He looked out the window to the side of him and noticed that the sun had begun it’s decent. The lights of the city were just starting to flicker to life and few stars were visible through the deep blue sky and the smog. He contemplated reading the letter in the morning and saving it for later but found that he couldn’t wait.

It was a rather abrupt turnaround to how he was feeling only hours before. The notion had Harry smiling. Yes, his friends knew him perfectly well.

He opened the final letter, skimming over the contents and finding that it was much of the same before he got to the postscript at the bottom. After reading it, Harry glanced up at the date written in the corner and found that it had been written only days after the train ride home.

‘ _P.S. I only realized now that you might not have known what Malfoy was talking about when he spoke of house seats and Wizengamot. It is sort of similar to Muggle parliament. It’s a rather old system, predating the Ministry itself. It is the legislative and judicial branches of the Ministry dealing with trials and the like (Your trial for underage magic was held there). There is no precise method of picking who holds seats within it, but they tend to be taken up by noble and ancient wizarding houses. The longer the line has been around, the more seats they have for voting. Others can gain a seat if they earn an Order of Merlin, but that’s pretty rare. It’s a rather fascinating system that is described in more detail in_ The Ministry of Magic and Her Justice System _by Marida Hobbins. It’s a rather dry read but very informative._ ’

Harry rolled his eyes. If _Hermione_ thought it was dry, then it would probably be a fire hazard if left out in the sun for too long.

‘ _Anyways, if you were interested in figuring out what seats you may or may not have, we could go to Gringotts together when you go to get your supplies. The Goblins could help you with an inheritance test and figuring out how many seats you’re entitled to._ ’

Harry set down the letter contemplating her words.

Thinking back to what Malfoy had said, he guessed that these seats were rather important to have and could have a huge impact on the Wizarding World. If Malfoy had been right, then he could have the majority vote in all trials and have all the captured death eaters walk as well as clear their names. More than that, while under Voldemort’s thumb, known members of the Order could be thrown into Azkaban and kept there without a fair trial or even a conviction.

Suddenly, both Hermione and Malfoy’s words held more weight.

His light-hearted mood was squandered as his mind raced. If the Malfoys were truly that close to gaining a monopoly over the system, then everyone would be in danger. Voldemort would be that much closer to having the Ministry under his thumb. Malfoy Sr. already had the Board of Education under him and had more power over Hogwarts than was comforting.

What if Sirius’ seat went to the Malfoy’s anyways, regardless of his will? What if they waved his last requests because of his status as an escaped convict in his final years? Did he still have the right to strike his blood relatives from their rightful inheritance? What if, while Harry was sitting here with his heart being tied into knots, Voldemort’s Death Eaters were working on a way to gain those floating seats?

Suddenly Harry jumped to his feet and sprung for his hiding spot under the floorboard. His mind made up, he started to grab items he thought he might need for his trip to Gringotts. He pried it up and reached inside, pulling out his slender, dark, holly wand, he stuffed it into his large pocket. He also grabbed a small pouch filled with Wizarding currency, placing it in the same pocket as his wand, and the invisibility cloak.

He replaced the board before standing back up and making his way downstairs. He paused at the cupboard under the stairs, realizing that they might ask for his vault key. Cursing under his breath his stared at the padlock on the door for a moment before running up to Petunia’s bathroom. He searched the drawers for a moment before pulling out a small bobby pin and running back down the stairs.

Harry had to do this more than once growing up after they had placed the locks on his bedroom door, they had started to take long trips more frequently. They only left him a few scraps to get him through the time spent in his room and he soon learned that lock picking would be a necessary skill to learn. He couldn’t wait until he was seventeen and able to perform magic freely, a simple Alohomora and ta-da, an unlocked door. Of course, once he turned seventeen, he would no longer be required to live with the Dursley’s and wouldn’t need the spell, but the sentiment was there.

Arriving back at the lock, Harry quickly inserted the bobby pin into the lock and wiggled it around before getting the lock to pop open. He quickly retrieved his vault key from his trunk and locked the cupboard back up, pocketing the bobby so he could store it in his room later. Before leaving the house, Harry wrapped the cloak around himself, knowing that the Order had members watching the house most of the time. He didn’t want them knowing about this particular outing.

More specifically he didn’t want Dumbledore to find out and lecture him about endangering himself and, therefore, the whole Wizarding World. As far as he had to know, the only time Harry would leave the house would be for a quick walk to the local park and back.

Harry stepped out onto the street and started his trek away from the house. It wouldn’t do to summon the Knight bus right in front of the Dursley’s. When he was a few blocks away he pulled off his cloak and raised his wand hand into the air. Seconds later a large purple triple-decker came to a screeching halt and let him on. Stan Shunpike smiled and greeted him as Neville, Harry had a brief pang of guilt for continually deceiving the man, but it served him well as it kept his escapades discreet.

As soon as he took his seat, the bus launched off and in a few short minutes, he was standing outside the Leaky Cauldron and making his way through the crowds silently with his cloak slipped back on around his shoulders. He made his way into Diagon alley and to the bank. Before stepping in, he once again slipped the cloak off and stuffed it away. He pulled on the fringe by his forehead, tugging it down to cover his scar as he stepped into the bank.

Unfortunately, he didn’t notice a curious blonde had seen him take off the cloak and how his eyes followed him into the bank.


	2. What's in a Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

Draco Malfoy had arrived home from his fifth year at Hogwarts under the impression that this summer was not going to be any different than the last. He would sit with his mother and they would discuss the gossip going around within the other nobel houses and even some lesser known houses. With his father, after his trial was dismissed, he would pick up his studies once more. He would learn his father’s trade and how Lucius had not only kept the Malfoy name afloat but had also made it grow and flourish, even in desperate times of war and imbalance.

However, the Dark Lord had accelerated his plans. After the disaster at the Ministry, he was eager to have a win and didn’t hesitate to let all his Death Eaters know that he wasn’t pleased with what had happened with the last attempt towards his goals.

The trial for his father had been postponed until the end of the summer, to which he was free to be at home, but his movements were limited, and he was to have an escort any time he left the manor. Lucius was unable to utilize his seats on Wizengomot while he was under trial and Draco was not yet old enough to step in for his father. Narcissa could take up the seats but wouldn’t be allowed to vote in his trial due to the conflict of interests. This all added up to the Malfoy’s being unable to have any hold over the Ministry and they were back at square one.

Needless to say, the Dark Lord was displeased. Not even Uncle Severus could tame his anger more than curbing it away from lashing out at Lucius and his family. Logically, Draco knew that the Dark Lord wouldn’t want to hurt them in any way. The bond that the Malfoy’s had created with Lord Slytherin and his Consort was forged by time and dedication to each other. The Malfoy family had been with the Dark Lord since the beginning of the war, before it was even an idea in anyone’s head and Lucius’ friendship with Severus had started near the beginning of their schooling years. The three of them were at the forefront of this war against the Ministry and Dumbledore and they would continue to fight for what they believed in.

However, it was hard to keep that in mind while the Dark Lord was enraged and throwing around curses and threats at his Death Eaters.

What had frightened him the most, was when he had overheard the Dark Lord speaking to Severus. It was a private conversation; one he most definitely should not have heard but he couldn’t help but eavesdrop. When he had figured out what they were discussing his heart had dropped to his feet.

_“Severus, I feel I must discuss something with you.” The Dark Lord began. “An idea plagues me, one that could gain us entry to Hogwarts and perhaps the downfall of Dumbledore.” The idea the Dark Lord suggested sounded too good to be real. With Dumbledore out of the way, the war would be all but won. The only thing left to do would be to stomp out the last of the Order and finally take down the fool Cornelius Fudge. But something about the Lord's words had Draco feeling wary. His tone put him on edge. “However, I feel that it might come at an expense.”_

_There was a short pause and the sound of someone shifting before Draco’s Godfather responded._

_“Tell me what you are thinking of.”_

_“If we had someone on the inside, someone who could provide safe passage into Hogwarts with the Headmaster none-the-wiser, that would be the best scenario.”_

_“Correct” The soft acknowledgment from Severus encouraged Voldemort to speak further._

_“We could try to send in another Defense teacher, the position is always open, however, you have shared with me that Dumbledore might have been planning to let you take the DADA position and hire a new potions professor. Additionally, it would be foolish to try and pull the same trick twice over the Headmaster. Though I loath to admit it, he is not a buffoon and wouldn’t fall for it a second time.”_

_“What are you suggesting, Marvalo?”_

_“What if we utilized a student? Dumbledore would not be able to refuse them just because of his suspicions. They would have almost the entire Slytherin house to aid them in their task and they would have ample opportunity to devote whatever free time they could spare to finding a way in.”_

_“Just who do you suggest to be in charge of this? They are only children, Marvalo.” Severus’ voice had become stern, it was clear that he disliked his partner's plan. “They should not be involved in warfare.”_

_“But they already are.” Voldemort cut in before his consort could rile himself up. “Dumbledore uses the children of his order for his own tasks. Think of Potter alone. That man has left the boy to the wolves multiple times every year. And his friends are right there in the thick of it with him.”_

_“How will doing the same as him make us any better?” Severus bit out._

_“We wouldn’t be sending them into a battle, Severus. Only asking them to aid in finding passage.” There was a huff, Draco assumed it was from his Godfather._

_“You did not answer me. Who would be in charge of this task?” Silence met Severus’ question and dread grew in Draco’s stomach, dark and twisting._

_“Draco.” Was the simple response._

_“Absolutely not!” The yell startled Draco. He jumped back a bit, ready to bolt away from the conversation and pretend he never heard it. He heard the sound of something tipping over and crashing to the ground followed by loud footsteps._

_“He is acknowledged by all his peers as a role model. Even those older than him. He is the son of the highest-ranking Death Eater other than you, and you are his Godfather. They will respect and listen to him, if not for his own cunning then for fear of what would happen if they didn’t.”_

_“You will not drag him into this. He is only sixteen!” Severus had lowered his voice, but the rage was still present._

_“He is almost of age-”_

_“But not yet.”_

_“It’s not like he would be facing down Dumbledore-“_

_“This conversation is over, Marvalo. He is my Godson, not a soldier. Not a spy. I don’t want to hear another word of it.”_

The Dark Lord had responded to Severus, but Draco was too shaken to continue listening. He had bid a hasty retreat and tried to forget the conversation. Draco knew that if the war were still ongoing after he had graduated then he would more than likely take the dark mark and join his father in his service to the Dark. But he had never thought about the possibility of being dragged into the fight before he was even seventeen.

If the Dark Lord had his way, he may be completing tasks for the cause sooner than he could have ever imagined. And though Marvalo had said it was unlikely, if he was found out, he could possibly be facing down the end of Dumbledore’s wand. Something he knew he wouldn’t survive.

Since that day, Draco had been on edge. Everyone had noticed, though none could imagine why he was so skittish. Fortunately, he was allowed to venture out of the house without anyone to accompany him. So, he was able to take trips to Diagon alley and shop for new books or potions ingredients to try with Severus and he would even stop for the occasional ice cream before heading back to the manor.

On this particular day, he decided to enjoy his treat outside and enjoy his favorite pastime, people watching. It was amazing what one would do when they thought no one was watching. He was often pulled towards either being disgusted or amused. Rarely was his interest piqued for more than a few minutes before he would choose a new subject to study. While scanning the streets for something new, he noticed an odd flash in the corner of his eye.

Turning to get a better look, he saw Harry Potter emerging from thin air and stuffing a cloak into his pocket before making his way up the steps of Gringotts.

Draco blinked in confusion before his mind was set whirling. From what his Godfather spoke of, Harry was confined to his relative’s house and rarely allowed to leave, especially without a team of Order members surrounding him. The secretive appearance hinted to Draco that this trip to Diagon was unscheduled. The Light was likely unaware that their Golden Boy was out and about, currently stepping through the doors of the bank and disappearing inside.

Intrigued, Draco made himself comfortable and watched the doors of the bank for the raven-haired boy to reemerge. This would be something that Severus would love to hear about. If only for the fact that it would get Potter into loads of trouble.

* * *

Harry made his way up to one of the goblins who was open and waited for him to finish what he was doing. The goblin stamped something before looking at him down his nose and huffing.

“Mister Potter. How may I be of service?” Harry shuffled his feet before answering, a bit unsure of what he was supposed to ask.

“I was told that it might be a good idea for me to get an inheritance test. Would I be able to do that today?” Harry asked softly, unsure if he was making a fool of himself or not. The Goblin gave no sign that he had heard him, but Harry remained patient. He would prefer not to provoke a goblin unintentionally. He knew that they had a mean streak and could hold a grudge for a long time. They didn’t particularly like Wizarding kind in the first place on top of it all so Harry felt it wise to tread carefully.

“Thirteen galleons.” The goblin stretched out his hand, waiting. Harry quickly pulled out his pouch and pulled out the requested amount before handing it over. The goblins snatched his hand back and turned away for a moment.

Suddenly, a parchment and a knife were slammed down on the counter in front of him, startling him slightly. The blade glinted ominously in the light as he looked up to the goblin.

“The parchment will need three drops of blood.”

Harry nodded silently before grabbing the knife and slicing his forefinger and letting three fat drops of blood fall onto the parchment. He set down the knife and watched in fascination as the blood thinned and spread out over the page forming words and a long list.

Before he could read what the parchment said, it was snatch from him and looked over by the goblin. After a moment, the goblin brought the parchment away from his face and studied Harry carefully.

He turned to speak to another goblin behind him briefly before he stood.

“Mister Potter, please follow me.”

Confused by the odd behavior, he nodded quickly and followed him past the long row of counters and down a hall that lead deeper into Gringotts, away from where he remembered the carts for the vault were. They made their way down multiple halls and finally ended up in front of a large wooden door with a nameplate.

_Griphook_

The goblin knocked for a moment before the door opened and Harry was ushered in. The goblin handed the parchment to who Harry assumed was Griphook before whispering a few quiet words and leaving the office.

Harry stood awkwardly by the door to the office and waited for the other to finish looking over the results. He was curious as to what was going on. He didn’t suppose that what was happening was particularly normal. It only served to make him more curious as to what was on that parchment.

Finally, Griphook looked up from the sheet before gesturing to one of the seats, inviting Harry to take one. Without a word, Harry sat down and waited for the goblin to start the conversation. It didn’t take long for Griphook to set down the sheet and fold his hands.

“Mister Potter, it seems that you attract the extraordinary wherever you go.” He began, a grin on his lips. “You must like causing trouble.” For a moment, Harry didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t know what he was expecting but he was sure that wasn’t it.

“I don’t go actively looking for it, no.” They were silent for a moment, Griphook studying Harry before giving him a slight nod. He huffed and handed the list over to him.

“I suppose not. I assume you will have some questions after reading this.” Harry frowned, not understanding the cryptic words, before taking the parchment and reading what was written.

_Harry James Potter_

_nee Harrison Jax Riddle-Prince_

_Sire: Tom Marvalo Riddle_

_Carrier: Severus Tobias Snape (Prince)_

_Date of birth: July 11 th, 1980_

_Godfather: Lucius Abraxas Malfoy_

_Godmother: Narcissa Malfoy nee Black_

_Father: James Fleamont Potter (Blood Adopted) - Deceased_

_Mother: Lilly Jae Potter nee Evans (Blood Adopted) – Deceased_

_Date of Blood Adoption: July 31 st, 1981_

_Godfather: Sirius Orion Black – Deceased_

_Guardian: Albus Dumbledore_

_Heir to:_

_The most Ancient and Nobel house of Potter_

_The most Ancient and Nobel house of Peverell_

_The most Ancient and Nobel house of Slytherin_

_The most Ancient and Nobel house of Gryffindor_

_The most Ancient and Nobel house of Black_

_The Nobel house of Prince_

_Magical Inheritance:_

_Parseltounge_

_Parslemagic_

_Charms (Blood Adoption)_

_Transfiguration (Blood Adoption)_

_Potions_

_Natural Legilimens_

_Natural Occulmens_

_Vaults:_

_See individual House statements_

_Properties:_

_See individual House statements_

_Curses, Wards, Spells, Potions, etc.:_

_60% Block on Magical Core_

_Marriage Contract:_

_Draco Lucius Malfoy_

_ATTENTION:_

_Guardianship of ALBUS DUMBLEDORE dissolved. Notice not received. Emancipation active through participation in TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT. Attempts to access Potter vaults have been made by ALBUS DUMBLEDORE. Attempts failed. HARRY JAMES POTTER may access vaults._

For a moment, all Harry could do was stare at the scroll. The information given to him was too much for him to process. While he was expecting to only see a list of properties and vault accounts, he was given… this. He didn’t even know what it was.

It couldn’t be right. It just couldn’t.

If it was, then that would mean that everything he thought he knew about himself would be completely wrong. And any content feeling he obtained about his place in the world and where he came from was savagely uprooted and turned upside down.

He wasn’t Harry James Potter. His father wasn’t one of Hogwarts most notorious pranksters along with his group of friends. His mother didn’t have an affinity for charms and have bright auburn hair that put the Weasley’s to shame. He didn’t have parents that lived in a small cottage in Godric’s Hollow and took care of him and showed them every ounce of love they could spare.

His real parents devoted most of their lives to either make his miserable or try and end it. He had parents who his only interactions with left him with a beaten ego or a battered body. They were no better than the Dursley’s, though at least _they_ still claimed him as their nephew.

At least they kept him.

And what a sad day it was when he realized that the Dursley’s treated him better than his own blood family. The Dursley’s who locked him in a cupboard for a majority of his life and fed him so little that he looked like a stick figure and his growth was stunted too. The ones who beat him and belittled him and had relatives that set dogs after him and friends that chased him and a son that ostracized him from the rest of the world. The ones who made him slave away to care for a home that he wasn’t even allowed to feel at home in.

They are the kindest family he has.

And they aren’t even family.

Whatever this Blood Adoption was. It wasn’t the real thing. Harry was not the Potter’s real child. Did they even have a real child? Had Lilly ever been expecting one? How did he end up with them? Did they know where he came from? How did he get from _Snape_ and _Riddle_ to the Potters?

Questions swirled in his mind. Firing rapidly, most not making sense. He could tell that he was fast losing his composure in front of the goblin and quickly detached his eyes from the paper, instead looking back up at Griphook with a stoic face.

“What is this?” He asked plainly. Not knowing what to ask first and surprised he was even able to speak, he figured that it might be a good place to start. The one in question shifted slightly as if getting ready for a barrage of questions. At least he knew what he was getting into.

“That is an in-depth inheritance test. It shows what one stands to inherit or has already inherited in properties, gold, magic, lineage and lists any magical contracts and binds the one in question may have related or attached to them. Parents, Godparents, and Guardians are also listed to provide context as to where the inheritance is from. And it may have the added bonus of making life easier when it comes to filing for us.” At the last part, Griphook smirked and flashed his razor-sharp teeth at Harry. For a moment Harry felt a shiver run down his spine before he was pulled back into the conversation with a question.

“What does this mean?” Harry started slowly. Trying to figure out what he was trying to say. “As far as I knew, I was Lilly and James Potter’s child. I don’t know about this ‘blood adoption’ or magical blocks or anything.” He looked back down at the parchment in confusion. “I don’t understand.” He said this softly, not knowing what else he could say to the goblin.

Griphook took in the sight of Harry. Not really knowing what to do himself. He was used to dealing with fully grown wizards and if he ever did see a pint sized one, it was normally in the lobby while they were accompanying their parents. They made him uncomfortable and edgy but he tried to contain himself for the sake of his job. The Potter accounts alone were important to Gringotts and with all that this child stood to gain, every goblin there would be frustrated to see him withdraw from Gringotts.

“As far as we are able to tell,” He began carefully, not knowing how Potter was going to react to what he was going to say. “You were born to the Dark Lord and his consort, Severus Snape in the middle of July.” And wasn’t that just something, Snape was Voldemort’s consort. “After a full year, the Potters had claimed you in a Blood Adoption, which is the closest form of adoption that magic allows. Blood Adoption is common in the Wizarding World due to its advantageous effects for the child. Simply put, the child still maintains their original magical affinities from their birth parents whilst gaining skills from their adoptive parents.”

“Okay, then what about the adoption itself. Do you know anything else about it? Maybe, where they got me from.”

“We do not have any information as to whether this adoption was legal, as there should be paperwork pertaining to how they obtained you and if the birth parents had willingly given up their child. Without this paperwork, we can assume it was illegal, though during wartimes there was an increased number of abandoned children and they were missing paperwork as well.”

“So, it’s possible that I wasn’t abandoned before I was given up?”

“It’s a possibility, though we can’t draw any solid conclusions, there isn’t anything to go off of.”

“But how is this possible? How could I be Riddle and Snape’s child? That shouldn’t be possible.” Harry didn’t know if he was talking about the biological side of it or the fact that it was _Riddle_ and _Snape_.

“It isn’t common, but sometimes, in order for a wizarding family to maintain their line, a male-male couple will produce a child. They take a fertility potion specifically designed for males. I won’t go into the intricacies as I am not familiar with them, though I’m sure you’ll be able to find books on it at Flourish and Blotts.”

Seeing that Harry was at a loss as to what to say to that, Griphook pressed on and continued with his explanation of the parchment.

“From there, you can see that you have multiple Godparents, though only the Malfoy’s remain. From Sirius Black, you obtained the Black family accounts and all her interests. From the Potter line, you gained the Potter, Peverell, and Gryffindor accounts and their interests. And the Prince and Slytherin accounts came from your birth parents.”

Harry nodded numbly, showing that he was listening to and understood what the goblin was saying, no matter how odd the words coming out of his mouth were. Everything about the day seemed a bit surreal at the moment. Harry wasn’t sure how much more he could take.

“It is unclear where most of the magical contracts and blocks came from as the test was unable to trace this. Though, if you found a curse breaker, they more than likely would be able to remove the curses and find the castor or castors. Gringotts does employ our own team of curse breakers. If you would like, I could arrange a meeting for you?”

Harry nodded slowly, trying to take in the information given to him. He was sure he wouldn’t get another chance to have this explained to him. Griphook quickly made a note on the parchment in front of him before continuing.

“Another thing to note is the script at the bottom. Because of your under-age participation in the Tri-Wizard tournament, you were emancipated. At least you are in magic’s eyes. You’ll have a harder time with the Ministry and a lot more paperwork. However, Gringotts does not care about the ruling of the Ministry, we have our own rules we abide by. As magic has deemed you of-age, you are able to access all of your accounts here. At least all of the closed ones. The active ones like Slytherin and Prince you’ll need permission from the head of the accounts.

“Would you like to contact them for permission to access these accounts?”

Harry blinked at the question.

Would he like to ask to gain access to Snape and Riddle’s accounts? It was an absurd question if he thought about it. It was never anything he thought he would ever have to ask himself in his lifetime.

For a moment he imagined himself spending all their money out of spite. Donating it to charities or orphanages for an ironic twist. He could imagine their enraged reactions, though even then it seemed odd and out of place.

“I don’t think so.” Harry thought for a moment. “Wait, why wasn’t I informed about my emancipation? I understand I wouldn’t have gotten one from the Ministry, as they don’t see me of-age yet, but what about Gringotts. Shouldn’t I have gotten a letter?”

Griphook’s eyes narrowed at the slight accusation. Harry only realized a moment later how that must have sounded and winced in apology. He didn’t want to upset the goblin. If there was one thing he had learned from Binn’s class, it was that goblins loved conflict. The more violent, the better.

“Yes, you should have been informed. I assure you, Mister Potter, our mailing system is flawless. We have records of multiple statements being sent to you. Each asking for you to come in and claim your inheritance ever since your emancipation. However, it seems as if there is a mailing ward attached to the existing wards around your residence in Little Whinging. The letters were rerouted from there. To where we are not sure. Though, we know that the letters have not been opened as they continued to be sent out. Of course, now the letters will cease as you have finally come in.”

Harry blushed at the last statement, feeling oddly bad about neglecting the waiting goblins. Though he felt like he couldn’t be fully at fault as he had never received his letters and therefore could never have known that they were waiting for him to arrive.

“Is there a way to get rid of the ward? So I will be able to receive mail from you in the future?”

“As I said before, a curse breaker would be able to help you with removing the curses on yourself. They more than likely would be able to take off the mailing ward on your home as well.” Harry nodded thoughtfully at Griphook’s words. He wondered who would want to keep him from receiving any mail from anyone before he thought back to last summer when Dumbledore put restrictions on what his friends could even say in their letters.

After remembering that, he felt that he had his answer.

If Dumbledore was the one to put the ward around Privet Drive then he was sure that the Headmaster knew of the built in mailing ward. Harry even bet one of the trinkets in his office would tell him about the status of said ward. To sum it up, the Headmaster most likely knew about every letter that came into Harry’s hands and what it pertained to.

Harry felt an odd sense of rage boil up in him. It wasn’t fully anger though, it felt more bitter than that. Like someone had twisted his heart into knots and told him to take a deep breath.

It felt like a betrayal.

And sure, it was only his letters. It was probably just meant to keep out any possibly harmful letters sent by vengeful Death Eaters or fan mail that Ron told him he must have loads of. But he still remembered being that small eleven-year-old that was elated that someone had actually written to him and that someone had cared about lil’ old Harry Potter that lived in the cupboard under the stairs. What all had been kept from him?

“Actually, do you think I could set up a new address for my mail to be sent to? I would rather not take the chance of informing whoever erected the wards that I am now receiving mail.” Griphook gave a blood-thirsty grin, obviously approving of Harry’s thought process and nodded sharply. They took a few minutes to figure out where to send the mail before Harry remembered something Ron had said in one of his letters before asking Griphook if he could send the address to him tomorrow after he made a few inquiries. The goblin readily agreed, not minding waiting for Harry to make his final decision.

By this time a vague plan was forming in his head and he needed the rest of the day to gather supplies. He didn’t want to be sidelined by another unexpected discovery before he had time to rid himself of the restrictions on his magic and his person.

“May I have a list of what is in each of the vaults? So, I can figure out what all there is.”

“Yes, though it may take some time. I can have someone take you down to your vaults so you can see for yourself while you wait for the lists to compile if you’d like.” Harry thought this over. He couldn’t realistically look through all the vaults. He knew that a lot of the older families had multiple vaults and they were all typically full to the brim. Though, he did think that he wanted to look at a few of them.

“Maybe just the Potter vaults for now. I’d like to see what’s there.” There was another nod before he called another goblin into his office and Harry followed them to the aforementioned vaults.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next chapter! I totally spaced updating yesterday and happened to remember just now. Please excuse my tardiness! Let me know what you guys think! In the next chapter, we'll find out a little bit more about what happened to Harrison Jax Riddle-Prince!


	3. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Just as ripples spread out when a single pebble is dropped into water- the actions of individuals can have far-reaching effects."

By the time Harry left Gringotts, he found that, yes, he could be thrown around just a bit more. He had gained an aching wrist from all the paperwork Griphook had him sign as well as a stack of papers listing the items in each of the vaults. Including properties and ‘donations’ to the Potter family after his defeat of Voldemort when he was a babe.

His meeting with Griphook was enlightening though. From there he had a vague idea of what he should do. The first thing on the list would be to get rid of all the magical blocks he had and figure out who put them there in the first place.

For a moment he found himself entertaining the thought of trying to figure out what happened in that year between when he was born and when he was adopted by the Potter’s. But he quickly shut down that train of thought, convinced that he would only be disappointed by what he would find. There wasn’t any way the two of them had wanted anything to do with Harry, especially now when they both hated him so much.

He’d rather go on the way things were than try and stir the pot looking for answers.

Besides, why should he even care about them? They had done nothing but terrorize his life ever since he had learned of the Wizarding World. No matter what had happened when he was still Harrison, it didn’t excuse their misdeeds after the fact. Him suddenly becoming their son did nothing to change that.

With a new mission in mind, Harry headed towards the first stop on his list, Flourish and Blotts.

The bookstore was less crowded then he remembered. Though he supposed he only ever saw it before heading to Hogwarts, when other students were also getting their school supplies. This time, however, he wasn’t there to pick up the school years literature. He had something else in mind.

Hermione would be so proud.

He browsed the shelves for curse breaking books, looking for anything that pertained to curse breaking on witches and wizards rather than objects. Harry knew that the curse breaker was really the only one that needed to know what he was doing, but Harry would feel more comfortable learning the gist of what was necessary to break the curses on him. So, with a boggled mind, he dropped a few different books onto his stack. Hopefully, they would be helpful.

He also picked up an encyclopedia after opening one of the books and realizing that he had little to no idea what it was talking about. It was around that time he regretted not listing to Hermione about taking runes. He could use that far more than he would ever use Divination. He also took a turn around the store in search for books about Blood Adoption, wanting to know more about what he might have gained or lost in the process.

It was while looking for this that he came across a medium sized book on male pregnancy. It sat there quite innocently. Not trying to draw attention but Harry noticed it none-the-less. He glared at it for a moment before picking it up out of curiosity. Flipping through the pages quickly he didn’t really take anything in as he stared at the small drawings explaining how to make the potion and how exactly it affected the body.

After a moment he added it to his pile, frustrated by his own curiosity but also a bit hopeful to know more about his real parents. At least, more than he already knew.

In a final fit of temptation, he went searching for books on Legilimens and Occulmens. If there was any truth to the inheritance test, then he may be able to pick up something on the subjects. It would also aid him in keeping his knowledge of his heritage from Snape during lessons. Especially if the Headmaster wanted him to take up lessons with the Potions professor on the mind arts once more.

He quickly made his way to the front before he found any other books that would pique his curiosity. The worker gave him an odd look when they got to the final few books he picked out, but Harry ignored it in favor of stuffing it into the bag provided. Afterwards, Harry headed towards the potions shop where he knew there was a small ingredients section for curse breaking and ward stones. While glancing through some of the books he noticed that most called for special ingredients but there were some common household items to be found as well like salt to draw a runic circle and candles and chalk.

He mainly went into the shop to see the different kinds of specialty items for runes and magic of that sort, but he was swept away by the wide variety of magical objects in the shop. He briefly considered buying a small muggle repelling ward stone, imagining the Dursley’s glassy eyes as they slid right over him and wondered if it would be enough for the Dursley’s to ignore him for the summer. In the end he opted to skip out on it, not knowing what the ward stone would do in such a small area and how it would affect his relatives. It may cause more problems than it would solve.

As he was browsing the store's items, he started to feel the weight of all the supplies he had gotten as his eyes landed on a feather-light bag. It was a decently sized bag made from a soft leather and had a wide strap for the shoulder and an adjuster for the length. The worker had claimed that there was an expansion charm on the bag that could hold up to about the size of a large closet, which seemed reasonable to Harry. He didn’t need an entire quidditch pitch in his bag and didn’t like the idea of caring a large amount of stuff on his person anyways.

As he was browsing, he also found a small wooden pendant, the label said that it was charmed to open and hold recorded messages. Like a Howler but less violent and the message would remain and repeat until it was set with a new one. Harry, gave it a thought and scooped it up with the bag, thinking that it might be useful in the future. Any other person would have thought it to be a romantic gift for courting, while Harry was imagining it’s uses as a way to pass along DA information. Similar to Hermione’s Gallons but this would be able to conceal messages within until unlocked by the wearer.

Maybe Hermione would be able to use her charm work to crate multiples of it and have them all be connected to pass messages. Harry’s mind began spinning with ideas and possibilities. They could use this to prepare the students of Hogwarts for the inevitable war that was brewing outside the school boundaries.

A war that Harry was pivotal in. One that meant he had to fight the Dark Lord.

Voldemort.

Tom Marvalo Riddle.

His father.

As the weight of his new knowledge rested on his shoulders once more, his plotting mind slowed and stopped. The fact gave him a new perspective on his supposed role. Was he really destined to either kill or be killed by his own family? Could he even do it if he had Voldemort before him, right now, without his wand and defenseless? Would he even be able to do it if he _wasn’t_ related to him?

Did Harry have it in him to kill _anything_?

The thought sobered up his mood and Harry found himself no longer awestruck by the knick-knacks in the shop or the oddly titled books that were haphazardly placed around the shop. He found that he wanted nothing more than to finish what he came for and go back to the Dursley’s. A thought that would have never crossed his mind before. So he pulled his focus away from the other rows of charmed accessories and walked towards the front of the shop.

As Harry went to pay for his items, he found himself walking past the potion books. He paused, remembering that the parchment had said he had an affinity for potions, more than likely from Snape. He had a hard time believing it, as he always performed poorly in potions class, but perhaps that was due to one of those blocks that Griphook had been telling Harry about. Not wanting to think about it much more, Harry decided to grab a few tomes on the subject. Maybe, after he speaks with the curse breaker, he could give the subject another try.

He stowed his purchases in his newly acquired bag and then decided to go for a stroll down the alley in search for the Weasley twins new joke shop. According to Ron’s letter, it was prime realty, being on the corner of a split in Diagon.

_‘More foot traffic. What’s more, is that all the first years will have to pass it on their way to get to Ollivander’s wand shop. Fred and George really know how to pick ‘em!’_

Just as the letter claimed, it wasn’t hard to find at all. What with a giant statue of one of the twins at the storefront, Harry thought he might have the right place. He gave a quick glance around before stepping up into the shop. It wasn’t open yet, there were still boxes full of products that needed to be unpacked and placed on shelves as well as decorations that needed to be put up on the wall. But Harry could tell that, once it was open, the shop would be very lively, the bright colors and streamers all over gave testament to that fact alone.

As he walked in a bell chimed over the door and he could hear the faint shouts of the twins from the floor above. Harry couldn’t help but smile, he had missed the twins. After their disappearing act last year, he hadn’t heard much from them. He supposed they were caught up trying to get this place up and running.

“Oi! Can’t you read the blasted sign?”

“It says,” The twins both appeared at the top of the spiral staircase, one after the other.

“We’re closed.” They said in unison, both turning to grab onto the rail and glare down at Harry. A moment later, their eyes widened, realizing just who had walked into the shop.

“Well, I was hoping to get a sneak peek, I know the owners.” Harry replied with a cheeky smile.

“Harry!” They cried, racing down the stairs together.

“What are you doing here?” George asked, reaching Harry first.

“We thought you were trapped,” Fred began pulling Harry into a brief, but strong hug.

“In that cookie cutter hovel.”

“Easy, George,” Harry glared playfully. “I’m the one that keeps that hovel in shape.”

“Well, then it’s the best hovel,” Fred amended for his brother.

“In the neighborhood anyways.”

“Thanks,” Harry drawled sarcastically, not minding the twin’s comments in the least. “To answer your question, I snuck out. This is an entirely unsupervised visit.” Before Harry could say anymore, the twins gasped and clutched each other’s arms dramatically.

“Forge, our Harry is finally creating his own mischief!”

“I know, Gred. We need to celebrate!”

“Har, har, har. Very funny guys.” Harry replied rolling his eyes, though he was still smiling.

“This is a momentous occasion, Harry.”

“We’d never joke about it.”

“You’re stepping out!”

“You’re blossoming!”

“You’re – “

“Wondering when you’ll get a tour.” Fred cut in, giving his brother a pointed look and pulling Harry further into the shop.

“Of course! With you being our one and only benefactor, you have to get the grand tour.” George linked Harry’s free arm with his and before he knew it, he was being pulled into the depths of the shop and through the aisles. The twins spoke in their usual fast paced rhythm, finishing each other sentences and being pulled into one direction or another by their own creations.

Harry listened happily and followed along behind as he was shown all their newest developments. They didn’t just limit themselves to pranks and jokes but had invested in potions and candy and helpful do it yourself books for everything from setting up their patented Weasley traps to getting away with the smallest of plots with no-one the wiser.

“We really should thank you, Harry.” George said seriously once they had reached the end of their tour and the two twins were just sitting there beaming with pride and joy. “If it weren’t for you, we would have never gotten the shop this soon, if at all.”

“We know that, as Weasley’s, we weren’t the best off. We knew we would have to work hard to get here and earn our right to stay, but you have been something our family has come to value and cherish highly.” Harry shifted slightly, sensing the serious tone in the normally light and joking pair. He was unsure what to say while facing this new side of the twins.

“You helped Ron find his self-purpose and step out of the shadows of us and our motley crew. Mom won’t tell us what you did, but we know that she saw something horrible when she faced that boggart at Grimmauld and you were there to comfort her and pull her out of it. Dad goes on for hours after you spend time with him in his shop figuring out muggle contraptions. Even Bill and Charlie have only good things to say about you.”

“Not to mention you saved Ginny’s life in your second year.” Fred supplied helpfully.

“How could we?” George exclaimed. Harry’s mouth opened and closed as he tried to come up with something to say, though nothing did ever make it out.

“You’ve given our family more than you could ever realize. Your friendship and comradery has helped us stick together and push forward, especially with the war surfacing once more.”

“We just wanted you to know that we appreciate you and everything you’ve done for us.” George finished, the both of them smiling softly down at Harry who had gone cherry. Finally, he nodded mutely, giving up on trying to come up with something to say. His throat burned in his effort to hold back the onslaught of emotions he felt in that moment.

For so long, Harry had felt like he just didn’t quite belong, like he was a defective piece in a very intricate puzzle. When he was at the Burrow he often felt like an outsider as he watched siblings quarrel and wrestle with each other. As he watched Molly and Arthur exchange affection and how they willingly gave it out to their children. He felt like he was stealing when that same affection was shown to him. It reminded him that he wasn’t supposed to have that. He was supposed to be in his cupboard and hidden from the world, lest they find out how unnatural and freakish he really was.

But despite these feelings, he felt the most at home with the loving bunch of red heads. They were the kindest people Harry had ever known and he couldn’t imagine ever doing something to wrong or displease them. He didn’t want to lose what little he had gained.

For the twins to tell him these things, that he was appreciated and cared for by the entirety of the Weasley clan. Well, it wasn’t something Harry thought he would ever hear in his lifetime.

“Enough of this!” Fred suddenly exclaimed. “I’m sure Harry here didn’t come here just for a visit, especially when he’s going against the Order’s orders.”

“I’m sure.” George agreed and they both leveled Harry with a curious stare, leaning slightly forward. Harry let out a breathy laugh and cleared his throat so his voice wouldn’t crack.

“You’re correct, I came to ask for a favor.” Harry replied hesitantly.

“Well, of course! How can we help?” Fred asked.

“I’ve recently found out that my mail has been redirected from Privet Drive by a ward. I would hire a curse breaker to remove the ward, except I’d rather not inform the creator of the wards decommission.” The two twins shared a look with each other for a moment before turning back to Harry.

“We assume the creator of this ward may have a very long beard,”

“And an odd choice in wardrobe.” Harry smiled at the twins quick thinking and puzzle work. They were truly great allies to have.

“I haven’t confirmed their identity yet, but I would assume you’re correct.”

“Then we agree it would be unwise.”

“To alert him to your knowledge of his meddling.” Harry nodded along while the twins spoke, he had thought of this and was glad the two agreed with him.

“But that still leaves me with the problem of where my mail is being sent. I have been unable to locate the secondary address where my mail has been delivered and I would be hard-pressed to keep it the way it has been. Which is why I am asking if it would be alright to have my mail forwarded here until I can set up something more secure.”

“Of course.” The twins agreed without any hesitation. Harry’s shoulders sagged in relief from tension Harry wasn’t aware he was carrying around.

“We can set up a receiving room for everything upstairs in the spare room.” Fred supplied.

“We hadn’t found a good use for it and we suppose this is a good a reason as any.”

“When did you want to start having your mail sent here?”

“I was hoping right away. I already contacted my account manager and asked for him to make the necessary arrangements. He’s just waiting for an address now.” Harry replied as the twins gave a short nod and turned to each other again.

“We’ll have it ready for you tonight.” The twin said in unison.

For the second time that day, Harry found himself baffled as he walked out of the twin’s shop. This was not caused by any sort or revelation, but by the sheer whirlwind the two left behind as they rushed to prepare the room for Harry’s needs. Harry smiled at their enthusiasm as he stepped down from the shop and started to head back towards the entrance of Diagon.

It was about time that he got back to the Dursley’s. Knowing his luck, someone had probably come to check up on him while he was out and about. As he stepped out of the Wizarding World, he felt somehow lighter. Oddly enough gaining the knowledge that he had made him feel as if he had a leg up against fate. He didn’t feel like he was running blind anymore. He had a plan to get answers.

And he knew what he had to do next.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was officially confused.

In all the time he knew Potter, he was certain of few things. But these few things he knew, he knew he could hold as gospel.

One. Potter didn’t know a lick about the Wizarding World. And he seemed content to bounce around and stumble across the answers he was looking for. For a moment he imagined a bumbling Harry Potter spinning in circles as he tried to read a perfectly clear road map. The thought made him smirk. Yes, that was how Potter acted.

Two. You’d think the wizard was afraid his schoolbooks would bite him. Granted there was the one the half-giant Hagrid had assigned for his joke of a class, but not all books needed to be shut with a rather thick belt. Draco never saw the raven-haired boy ever open his book except in Potions to keep Snape from snapping at him worse than he usually does. Potter probably spent all of his time divided between getting into trouble and discussing quidditch with that blood-traitor Weasley.

Three. Though he was reckless, Potter knew better than to go out and about without someone there with him. He knew the risk of letting himself go out unguarded and without his assured safety. With the war starting up again. The price on his life was only growing and the Death Eaters desperation only grew with it. If Potter was caught alone and without help, it would surely mean his end. This had to be something that he realized.

If not, then Potter was even more of a dunce than he thought, and Malfoy probably had to pick a new rival. If this was the level of intelligence he was up against, then it reflected poorly on Draco’s own abilities.

These three truths were the main reason why Draco was confused when, after exiting the bank, Potter went to Flourish and Blotts and bought enough books to start his own small library. He found himself glad that his father had let him in on the little loophole in the Ministry of Magic’s underage magic monitors because his glamors served him well as he tailed Potter through the shop as he picked up books on curse breaking and Legilimens and Occulmens. The most surprising book he noticed in the pile was one for information on male insemination and pregnancy.

Afterwards, Potter went to pick up some supplies from the potions shop before making his way to the Weasley twins’ new shop.

Draco did not know what Potter needed with so many books on curse breaking or male pregnancy. He didn’t know why he was getting books at all as Potter made it abundantly clear he wasn’t one for reading. He was also curious as to why Potter needed to go to Gringotts and what took up his time for just short of two hours. The blond had time to finish three ice creams before he saw the green-eyed Gryffindor emerge from the bank. And he left with a large stack of parchment under his arm.

Nevertheless, no matter how confused Potter made him, Draco knew that he needed to tell his Godfather about what he had discovered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter It's a little shorter than the others but I promise there is more coming. Let me know what you think of it and where you think the story is headed! The next few chapters are going to be monsters to write as we finally see what the Dark Lord and Potions Master have to say about all this! I'm super excited about that! Let me know what you guys think so far in the comments!


	4. To Whom it May Concern

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "No one in the world ever gets what they want and that is beautiful."

Severus was working in his personal potions lab in the dungeons of Slytherin manor when he got the letter from Gringotts. It was brought to him by Yaxley who had found the owl pecking at one of the windows outside the main hall. Only a few people knew of Severus’ status with the Dark Lord, but all knew better than to upset the potions master. Anyone outside of the inner circle avoided this mainly because Severus was _in_ the inner circle and his upset would bring the Dark Lords upset upon them as well.

For those in the inner circle, they knew of their Lord and Severus’ relationship. It had been a long one that began shortly after the brooding man had graduated Hogwarts and was fully pulled into the war in the Dark’s favor.

However, that was a story for another time and one he didn’t like reminiscing as it ended in tragedy and Severus’ suffering.

Yaxley approached him slowly, trying to gauge the mood the consort was in. He was well known for his barbed words when aggravated by something or someone. Lately, the Death Eaters had noticed the consort had been in an irritated state ever since the end of the last term and no one had to guess why. The Dark Lord’s plans going sour last minute at the Ministry had everyone on edge, Voldemort and the consort the most.

Severus found himself berating others for their stupidity and incompetence. He often stalked off to his lab to be alone and create new and wicked potions that had horrible effects like melting insides or cauterizing blood vessels to induce heart attacks. And though his big show and sharp words, everyone in the inner circle knew that he was just worried for the safety of the Dark Lord.

Everyone had been hoping to get that prophecy. It was the key to figuring out the next steps to victory and finally ending this grueling war. They just needed to know just what the Potter brat was supposed to be capable of and how he was meant to finish off the Dark. At the present moment, they had no clue how he would be capable of such.

The boy never showed any real signs of standing out, other than getting himself into loads of trouble and barely scraping out of it. He takes no interest in extracurricular activities other than Quidditch and puts little effort into the schoolwork he does. Severus reports that the boy’s grades are average, only excelling in DADA. Though everyone had to admit that the defense class was sub-par after their Lord put a curse on the position. A wise move in order to stub the Ministry and the Light but also had the unfortunate side effect of stunting an entire generation's education.

No one really understood what was so outstanding about this child, other than his innate ability to annoy the piss out of each and every Death Eater.

It was due to this frustration that Severus was limiting his interactions with others, not wanting to verbally rip their heads off. However, the consort now looked to be calm and relaxed as he added what looked to be rotting animal parts into the large boiling cauldron. It was only because he was so calm that Yaxley thought it safe to speak.

“Severus,” He began, gaining the potion master's attention. The man in question lifted his head from the potion and waited for him to continue. “There is a letter for you. It just arrived a few moments ago.” He held out the letter to the man as he spoke and after a moment Severus took the letter from his hand. Yaxley immediately nodded his head towards Severus and swiftly left the room, letting him have privacy to read the letter.

Had he stayed, he would have seen Severus’ eyes widen as he read the statement from Gringotts and heard his loud gasp as he grasped the table in front of him. He barely thought to turn off the flame on his potion before flying out of the room and towards Marvalo’s study where he had holed himself up for the past few days.

Within minutes Severus had reached the other side of the manor and flung open the door to the study. Marvalo, unprepared for his husband to come flying into the room, sprung out of his seat and reached for his wand out of reflex. He just managed to keep from pointing it at Severus, however, when he noticed who it was that had flown through the doors.

“Severus!” He exclaimed, letting out a breath and sitting back down in his chair as calmly as he could manage with his racing heart. “What on earth has gotten into you? I almost hexed-“

“Marvalo,” Severus cut him off, not caring about his interruption. The Dark Lord must have heard the urgency in his voice because he stopped talking and waited for him to continue. “It’s him.” Riddle frowned, not knowing what the man could possibly be talking about. “It’s Harrison.” Marvalo’s eyes quickly widened and he sat up straighter.

“What?” He breathed. His eyes then focused on the letter clutched in his partner’s hand. Severus understood the silent question and crossed the room to hand over the letter. He gave the other some time to read the contents before speaking again.

_To Whom it may Concern_

_This letter has been sent to notify the current account holders of vaults mentioned below._

_It has come to our attention that on this day, June 29 th, 1996, Harrison Jax Riddle-Prince has gained his magical emancipation and excepted his inheritance. Therefore, he has legal right to gain access to the following vaults. _

_The Nobel House of Prince_

_The Most Ancient and Nobel House of Slytherin_

_Harrison Jax Riddle-Prince will not be allowed to access these vaults without permission from the current account managers and holders. Please come into Gringotts for your account managers to settle the appropriate paperwork. If unable to come in within the next week, please send a reply with your permission or denial for Harrison Jax Riddle-Prince’s ability to access these vaults._

_The same letter has been sent to your spouse regarding the additional user for the above accounts._

_Gringotts_ _Wizarding Bank_

“He’s alive, Marvalo.” The words were near a whisper, the potions master not quite believing his own words. “Where could he have been all this time?” Severus watched his spouse as he slowly set down the letter and shook his head softly.

“I don’t know.” Voldemort met the other's gaze and Severus could see the gears moving in his head. “But if he has excepted his inheritance then he must be aware of the Wizarding World.”

“How could he have come into his inheritance already? He is younger than Draco. He shouldn’t have access to any of it until he reaches seventeen.”

“He could have been granted early emancipation. If he proved to be self-sufficient the Ministry might have given it to him. I’ll have Lucius look at the ministry for all emancipated wizards around his age. Who knows, we may find him from that.”

“If he was emancipated, that would mean he’d,” Severus took a breath and gathered his thoughts. The two of them had thought over all of the _what if’s_. Ever since the day their child had been swept from them, it was all they could do.

What if he was dead? What if he had been stolen by the order? What if Dumbledore had used Harrison to find Severus out. What if he had been given to someone else? What if he was growing up in a household that was not his own?

What if he ended up in an orphanage?

“Either his family had signed the appropriate papers, or he grew up in a _home_.” Marvalo spat the word out bitterly, his tone low. Severus knew some of what had happened to his lord when he grew up in Wool’s Orphanage but not all. One thing that Severus knew for sure, was that Voldemort despised orphanages and homes, and Severus couldn’t help but agree. Prospects were not great for a child if they came from one and they likely never improved even once they were out of it.

“Do you think that Dumbledore stole him just to put him into the system?” Severus questioned. His partner scowled before looking back down to the letter.

“I have a hard time believing that the old fool would let Harrison out of his reach for even a moment. I’d have an easier time believing that he placed him with a heavily light sided family. One that he’d be able to manipulate easily.” The potions master nodded and sighed softly.

“But we’ve looked into all of them already. None of them have sons that match his age. Not unless he was hidden as one of the Weasley’s brood and I don’t think Ronald Weasley is who we’re looking for unless you disagree.” Marvalo gave Severus an eye roll before turning back to his thoughts.

During the early days of their investigation, Severus and Marvalo had explored every option available to them to try and find their child but they turned up with nothing. They still held on to a few trinkets they had collected in hopes that one of them might give them a clue one day, but after the discovery of a prophecy and Marvalo’s ‘ _death’_ they had been put away for thirteen years and forgotten until just recently as the Dark Lord had been returned to form and the days slowly crept closer to Harrison’s sixteenth birthday.

“Do you still have the lineage test that goblins gave you?” An idea sprang to the forefront of Marvalo’s mind as he quickly grew excited and looked at Severus expectantly. The potions master blinked for a moment before nodding. “Poppy,” With a pop a small house elf appeared between the two and looked up at the Dark Lord expectantly. She was thinner than most house elves and rather frail, but she had strong magic that made her ideal for the tasks that Marvalo usually had in mind. “Retrieve the lineage test for us as quickly as you can manage.” With a swift nod, Poppy disappeared and Severus narrowed his eyes at the other.

“Just what are you thinking?” Marvalo didn’t reply, only smiled at his spouse before Poppy appeared and set a tightly bound scroll on the desk and stepped back.

“Would the masters like anything else?” She asked before receiving a negative from the Lord and popping away once more. The scroll was quickly opened and laid flat with weights at either end to keep it from rolling back closed. A large family tree was drawn out from top to bottom and it extended further and further up the long scroll, listing past relatives and ancestors, however, the Dark Lord was uninterested in that. Instead, he looked to the very bottom of the parchment where his own and Severus’ names lied.

Years ago, when they had first received this parchment, their son’s name had been placed below their own. _Harrison Jax Riddle-Prince_. But the name was written in a dull purple, the color stating the uncertainty of the person’s status. In simple terms, the parchment did not know if the person in question still belonged to the family or was even alive. The two of them had been baffled as to how the Headmaster had managed to hide their son so well from even magic itself and then they became enraged.

That night the two of them had led a raid and brought down an entire wizarding village in their rage.

“Perhaps his name has changed. If he has come into and accepted his inheritance, this should have been updated as to what name he goes by and he would be added back onto the tree. If he has access to our vaults, then he should be connected to us somehow.” Severus’ eyes widened at the other man’s words. If that was true then they could potentially have their son back by the end of the week, if not sooner. He walked towards the desk quickly and leaned over to read the parchment with his partner.

At the bottom of the scroll, just below their own names, they read together as they both noted that the script had indeed changed.

_Harry James Potter nee. Harrison Jax Riddle-Prince_

Slowly, Marvalo leaned back, sinking into his chair. Severus stayed hunched over the parchment reading the words over and over again. The words weighed heavily in Voldemort’s mind. Harry James Potter, his sworn enemy, the one prophesied to bring his doom, the one he had been so desperately trying to get rid of for the past fifteen years, was his own son.

It was too perfect if he thought about it, and Dumbledore must have thought so as well. He had stolen his son and gave him to one of the light families that proved to be the biggest threat and watched as Voldemort tried to kill him. And Marvalo, being so absolutely oblivious, had fallen for it and he hadn’t stopped trying ever since he had first heard the prophecy.

And wasn’t that just a whole new rabbit hole?

If Potter was their child, then how could he be the one the prophecy spoke of? They only knew part of the prophecy back then when Severus had just given birth to their son.

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…._

That small part alone would disqualify him. Unless, could their Harrison have been slipped into the Potter role after the fact? No, that wouldn’t be possible. If magic had recognized him as a Potter then he must have been magically adopted in some way that, even after he came into his inheritance, he remains a Potter in the eyes of magic.

The thought brought a strange sorrow over the Dark Lord. The fact that, even when their son had come back to life and magic recognized him as their heir, he still remained the child of someone else in its eyes. How was it fair that Harrison could have been torn from them so forcefully and they would lose everything of him? Not even his name could remain.

If the prophecy was not for Harrison, then who was it for? Had Voldemort been chasing a ghost this entire time? Or had Voldemort just been torturing his son all this while for nothing?

He could imagine Dumbledore sitting back and watching with that inane twinkle in his eyes as Voldemort tore his own family apart and nearly ended his own life in the process. He had spent years adrift as a wraith of his former self. Severus had been cursed to spend all those years alone and constantly watched over by their greatest enemy, forced to do his bidding. And Harrison….

Oh, Harrison. He had tried to murder his own child. He almost set his own greatest fear on his son’s shoulders. What could he have done? What had he almost done?

“He’ll hate us.” Severus suddenly said, tearing the Dark Lord from his panicking thoughts. Their heads swiveled to meet. “He already does.” Marvalo wished that he could deny this. That he could confidently say that Potter would be open to the idea. After all, they thought him to be an enemy. However, he knew it wasn’t true. They had been vile to him. “And he has every right to be angry with us!”

“He does,” Marvalo started cautiously. “But-“ He looks up towards his consort faltering before he continued. “We need to try.” Severus paused, taking a breath before nodding. “We’ll get him back. I can’t promise that he’ll come willingly or that he’ll even stay, but we need to try, Severus.”

“Agreed.” Suddenly, the two heard a soft knock at the door as a blonde head poked its way into view. Severus looked towards the noise and recognized his godson standing in the doorway. Marvalo moved to cover the scroll they had laid out with a few stray pieces of parchment. He didn’t want the young man to find out just who Potter really was just yet. After all the young Malfoy had quite the feud with the boy savior, he’d rather prepare himself for that reveal.

Especially since Draco was betrothed to him.

“Draco,” Severus spoke, raising his hand to call him in. “What is it?”

The one in question stepped into the room slowly and made his way over to his godfather, warily eyeing the Dark Lord. Marvalo couldn’t fault him for it. He had only returned to power a little over a year ago and the boy hadn’t had much experience in his presence. Severus, for all his worth, was trying to get his godson more comfortable around his husband but it was still a ways in coming.

“I went out to Diagon today.” The blonde began, looking back towards his professor. “I saw Potter there.” The news had both Severus and Marvalo dragging in a slow breath, waiting. “Strangest thing, he didn’t have any Order members with him. At least none that I could see. I thought it was odd so I followed him to see what he could have been up to.”

Malfoy’s words had the Dark Lord pause for a moment. Though it was probably good that Harry wasn’t with any Order members when he found out about his heritage, the idea of him going out alone, without anyone there to protect him, was far more than foolish. If one of his Death Eaters had seen him then he would have been done for. Marvalo, before this revelation, would have been ecstatic if one of his men had brought Potter to him on a silver platter. However, he knew that if they had, Harry wouldn’t be in the best of conditions and probably very injured. After their latest revelation, he knew he would be more than displeased to find Harrison in that state.

He needed to work on how he was going to play this with his ranks. He needed his men to still focus on bringing in Harrison, but he needed him unharmed. How would he get his Death Eaters to sympathize with them? It wouldn’t be hard to get them enraged at Dumbledore for his crimes against their Lord's son. They would riot at the knowledge that Harrison had been taken by the leader of the light. But to get them to accept that the boy who had caused Marvalo’s fall was the one who needed their protection, that was going to take some work.

“What did you find, Draco.” The Dark Lord was pulled from his thoughts when Severus spoke up, encouraging Draco to continue.

“Well, he had spent an awful lot of time in Gringotts, nearly two hours before he came out with a large stack of papers. I didn’t get a close enough look at them to see what they were pertaining to, but Potter seemed pretty protective over them. Odder than that, though, was that he went straight to Flourish and Blotts. I’d never once seen Potter read anything for pleasure other than that Quidditch book all the Gryffindor’s rave over.”

Even Severus was surprised by that piece of news. Though he hated to admit it, he knew that Harry, his Harrison, was rather impartial to literature. He was sure the only reason the boy even opened a book was when it was absolutely necessary.

“And then he proceeds to collect enough books about curse breaking and mind magic to fill a small library. He also purchased books about blood adoption and there was one that-“ Draco paused here, turning a bright red and refusing to continue.

“One that what, child?” Severus prodded and Draco thinned his lips a moment before taking a small breath.

“I think it was about male pregnancies, Uncle Sev.” Severus seemed amused by the boy’s small voice as he said this.

“I do believe that you had quite an interest in the subject some years ago, did you not?” Severus poked at the young Malfoy, who promptly turned from cherry to scarlet.

“Well, wouldn’t you be if your intended was a boy too?” Draco bit back, folding his arms petulantly. Severus laughed while Marvalo let his amusement show. Draco’s upset was always rather amusing, though he seemed to be growing out of it, slowly, but surely. The humor ran dry, however, when Draco’s face became pensive, Marvalo had no doubts he was thinking of the supposed fate of his affianced.

The couple shared a look, knowing that they needed to tell Draco about their discovery. Preferably soon, before the child had time to figure it out for himself.

“But that’s not all.” Draco’s sudden evasion of topic caught both of their attention. “After that, he went to a potions store. I know for a fact that Potter didn’t score high enough to get into your NEWT’s potions class.” He said, looking at his godfather once again. “Most of the things he got there were related to curse breaking, but I still saw him pick up a few things for potions. And after that, he went straight to the Weasley twins’ new shop. It wasn’t open yet, but he spent a lot of time in there too before he left the alley.”

Draco shuffled his feet awkwardly as he finished, a habit his mother hadn’t been able to train out of him. Severus always gained a fond smile whenever the boy did so. Marvalo supposed he found comfort in the fact that his Godson hadn’t completely grown up yet, though his pureblood upbringing might have others fooled, it was when Draco was in the comfort of those he trusted that he let his younger, more awkward side show.

“Thank you for bringing this to us, Draco.” Marvalo finally spoke up. “We’ll have to look into whatever young Potter has taken a sudden interest in. Perhaps it may be useful to us in the future.” From Severus’ conflicted face, Marvalo already knew that he wanted to tell his Godson bout their discovery, but they both knew that they needed time to digest this knowledge themselves and come up with a plan to tell the Malfoy’s as that will be a drama in itself. His husband turned to him and gave him a thankful nod before walking towards Draco and resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Now then, I do believe that you had wanted to show me something you had found in the library.” The blonde looked up, surprised, and glanced between the two men.

“You’re not too busy?” He asked, unsure. The potions master smiled and pulled the boy towards the door.

“Not at all, let's leave the Dark Lord to his scrolls. After all, he has work to do.” Severus threw over his shoulder as the pair walked out.

Marvalo’s eyes narrowed in determination as he turned back to the scroll on the table. Yes, he agreed that there was most certainly work to be done.

* * *

When Harry returned to Privet Drive, he silently made his way upstairs and sat down at the small desk, still littered with letters. He set down his purchases and pulled out the thick scroll he had received from the goblins. As he unrolled the parchment, he reread the first few words. _Harrison Jax Riddle Prince_. That was his real name.

Harry couldn’t pretend that nothing had changed and that he could continue on as he had in the past without this knowledge. How many times had he laid awake at night, wishing for his parents or other relatives? How many times had he wondered about what they were like? Fantasized about them showing up on the Dursley’s doorstep and taking him with them?

Now his questions were answered.

Ever since Harry was young, he felt a loss from the absence of his parents. The Dursley’s only pressed upon this with their harsh treatment. Those questions had given him a spark of hope. Delusions that he _knew_ would never come true, but nothing stopped him hoping. However, now, whatever solace he had created for himself had been wiped away after reading those words.

His parents wouldn’t ever show up on the Dursley’s doorstep. He didn’t need to wonder if they were alive. He didn’t need to wonder what they were like. He didn’t need to worry about what they thought about him, whether they would accept him.

There was nothing for it.

Looking over the rest of the parchment he was struck once more by the revelation of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy being his real godparents. He couldn’t help but picture the couple in his mind. Harry had always thought of them in a detached fashion. He knew they existed; he knew they were Malfoy’s parents. He knew that they were strong Dark supporters. But he had never given them much thought. Never batted an eye at them other than when Harry ran into Malfoy Sr. at the Death Eater rallies he was forced to attend.

He knew relatively nothing of the couple, however, now he supposed he knew that they must have been close friends with the Dark Lord and his Potions professor.

He continued down the list until he had reached the magical block and curses. The block on his magic was something that he couldn’t really understand that well as his knowledge on blocking was limited. All he knew was that it was an advanced curse that involved rituals and runes, both of which weren’t covered in the elective classes he had chosen.

The block on his sight was something he figured would be there after learning about his true parentage. After all, neither of his parents was required to wear glasses, and unless James Potter’s vision was actually that awful, Harry should have been able to get away without wearing spectacles.

Harry had wondered what Parselmagic was before he realized it might be something like the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. After all, only a Parsletongue can open the chamber. It was probably magic limited to those who could speak the serpents’ tongue.

The block on mind magic gave Harry pause. He recognized his poor performance in both subjects, even openly admitted it to the Headmaster and his friends. However, did his lack of skill steam from this block? Was it making it impossible for Harry to put up defenses in his mind? Making him forever vulnerable to these kinds of attacks?

That would mean….

He would have never kept the Dark Lord out of his mind. He could have never seen through the man’s trick because he couldn’t even utilize the skills required. He could have never learned from Snape, never had defended himself from his vicious attacks.

He could never have known that Sirius wasn’t really at the Ministry that night.

Harry felt a rage build up in him. It was odd, he supposed, he would have guessed this should have made him relieved or perhaps even sad. But he was _burning_. His rage was aimed not only at himself but also at whoever had prohibited him from utilizing mind magic. Because of them, Harry was inept at Occulmensy. Because of them, Harry was unable to learn anything from Snape and because of them, he had gone to the Ministry.

But even more than that, Harry had fallen for it. He had still gone. Sirius was still gone. And there was nothing that Harry could do about it. And in the end, the only one he could really blame for it was himself.

And just like a wave, his anger came and pulled right back.

There was nothing he could do now. And brooding over the past wouldn’t change it. Harry knew that best of all. Instead, he turned his attention back to the parchment. He was relatively calm before he came across one of the last few entries.

_Marriage Contract:_

_Draco Lucius Malfoy_

He was engaged to _Malfoy_. Logically, Harry knew that lots of highly established Wizarding families would preselect their child’s future partner, but he had never once considered that to be the case with him. Not to mention that he would be matched up with another boy. He thought of all the times Malfoy and he had crossed paths over the years, he couldn’t recall any civil interactions other than their one-sided conversation in Madam Malkin’s while they were getting fitted for their first-year robes.

The Slytherin boy was a menace. They had never gotten along since that day on the train. Malfoy hated him simply for... well. Harry couldn't really think of a reason other than when he had refused his hand in friendship after he insulted Hermione and Ron. Harry could imagine the boy would be bitter about that, but now that Harry thought about it, it was a childish reason to start a feud over, especially one as acidic as his and Malfoy's. Though, Harry supposed, with children, it was in for a penny in for a pound. After that moment, there was no hope for peaceful co-existence between them. They were at each other's throat the moment they spotted the other.

He couldn’t imagine them trying to get along with each other for five- minutes, let alone the rest of their lives. Was this marriage contract binding? Was it escapable? What effects would it have on Harry if he broke the engagement? Would it have _any_ effect seeing as he was entirely unaware fo the contract until that moment? Harry suddenly wished he had decided to purchase a few books about bonding. Maybe he would be able to sneak out to Diagon again at some point. He knew that it would be foolish to order the book by owl, Dumbledore would be able to see what he was reading and question him about it later.

That brought forth another thought, did the Headmaster know? Was he aware of Harry’s true parentage or was it only the Potter’s? If the Headmaster was aware, how would he react to Harry’s newfound knowledge? Obviously, if the Headmaster did know, he was trying to keep it a secret from Harry.

If it were a year before, Harry wouldn’t even think about harboring the suspicion against the aged wizard. He was something of a grandfather to him. Always kind and smiling, also never without a bag of his favorite candies to offer to anyone who’d listen. But after the disaster at the ministry and the wish-washy behavior from the Headmaster that whole year, Harry had no qualms with holding onto his apprehension.

From his experience, the Headmaster seemed to like to fight the coming war like a chess match. In order to direct his pieces, he uses his hoarded knowledge to get his pawn to move to its next place on the board. And the poor rook or knight would never be the wiser until they had completed their final movement.

Like Sirius.

Yes, Dumbledore was a Grandmaster in his field. He knew which strings to pull and each person’s soft spot. And from the expert way he had conducted Harry’s life from the moment he was dropped off at the Dursley’s, Harry wouldn’t doubt that the Headmaster knew exactly where he had come from. The only thing he couldn’t understand was why he had allowed Snape to come on at Hogwarts as the Potions master if he knew what he was to the Dark Lord.

Unless that’s exactly what he wanted. Or maybe he just didn’t know that. Maybe he didn’t know about Harry either.

Harry huffed in frustration and tossed the parchment down to the table once more.

It was all too much to think about. Snape, Voldemort, Malfoy, Dumbledore, Sirius, all of it. For probably the hundredth time in his life, Harry wished for a simpler life. One where he didn’t have to worry about blood adoption or marriage contracts or dead not-parents or alive hate-your-guts parents or medaling Headmasters.

He just wanted to be normal and be able to have the summer to goof around and fly on brooms with his friends. He wanted to be able to go to school and learn about magic without having to worry about a constant threat to his life. He wanted to walk through Diagon without heads turning to stare at the damn scar on his forehead. He didn’t want people to automatically treat him a sort of way because of something he couldn’t even remember doing.

But nothing was ever simple for Harry.

With a disdainful look at the parchment on his desk, he turned away and looked at the darkening sky out the window. Perhaps he’ll find out the truth someday, but Harry resigned to the fact that it wasn’t going to be right then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank YOu guys for reading! Hope you guys enjoyed this last chapter! This one was a bit longer than the last, hope you guys don't mind. Let me know what you guys thought of Severus and Marvalo's reaction! How do you think they will handle this? How does this affect their plans? What even are their plans? Let me know what you guys are thinking. I love to hear your theories!  
> I'll leave you guys with a little teaser for the next chapter. Here it is:
> 
> “Promise me, Severus.” Lucius demanded as his hands clutched the arms of his chair. The potions master remained silent for a moment before bowing his head.  
> “I already promised to do so years ago.”


	5. Too Big to Fail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I look outside and see the world I built as it all comes crashing down."

A few days after Harry’s outing to Diagon Alley Harry received a letter. The twins had attached a note stating that they were forwarding the letter through the muggle post as to not be detected by Privet Drive’s wards. A quick think around that Harry hadn’t thought of himself. He figured he would have to stop by occasionally, to pick up his post. The twins had also added a postscript that hinted at the volume of mail they were receiving for him. The thought made Harry feel slightly guilty as he knew that asking them to have to sort through all of that mail must have been quite the task.

After a quick glance over, Harry recognized the Gringotts crest and immediately opened it. He took a moment to scan the letter and Harry found his lips quirking up. Griphook had written to him to inform him that his meeting with the curse breaker was set for three days from then. Harry’s relatives wouldn’t be back until later that same night so he wouldn’t have to worry about finding a way out of the house.

However, with all these special trips he had been making recently, he should find a better way to disguise himself rather than just wearing his invisibility cloak everywhere. Perhaps he should take a closer look at his old textbooks. Maybe there was a charm that he could learn, but no, the Underage Magic Monitor would pick up on that. Well, it was a thought for another time.

For now, he would have to settle for sneaking around the alley. Harry stuffed the letter in his pocket and brought the rest of the post inside with him. He was near the end of the incredibly long list the Dursley’s had left him with and was confident he would be able to get the rest done over the last few days of the Dursley’s vacation.

In the evening, when he had finished his tasks for the day, he had tucked into the books he had gotten from Flourish and Blotts. The curse-breaking books were interesting, though he was finding it hard to focus. Now that Harry was aware of the curses prohibiting him from properly focusing, he couldn’t believe that he had never noticed it in the past. Even for subjects that had given him great joy or that he succeeded at, like Defense Against the Dark Arts, had only been able to hold his attention for a fraction of a minute before he lost focus.

What’s worse is that now, Harry knew what was happening, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He tried to force himself to retain the words on the page but that only brought forth a splitting headache that had him put to bed before the sun had even set. He hoped that he would be able to keep his focus after the curse breaker gets rid of whatever he can.

So, while he was trying to brush up on his subjects, it was a slow process. As Harry was going through his old textbooks, he was realizing how much he actually didn’t remember and how foolish he had been to disregard the knowledge given to him. If he had known more of these charms or potions, maybe things could have been different. Maybe he could have used a repealing charm from his fourth-year schoolbooks on Cedric to push him out of the way of the Killing Curse. Or he could have used a sticking jinx on Wormtail so he couldn’t run away during Harry’s third year. And then Sirius would have been a free man and wouldn’t have had to hide out in Grimmauld Place. There were a hundred different spells he could think of to use against that insufferable toad from the last year.

But since he didn’t even try to learn them, he was useless to remedy the inevitable.

Now, however, Harry was determined to break the pattern. He would not sit by in ignorance and rely on his blind luck. He would strengthen his mind and magic. He refused to find himself in another desperate scramble for his friends and his own survival.

Once these curses were removed, Harry would be better. He will be able to focus and give his studies the attention they deserve, and he _will_ be able to help those who need him. No one else will fall through their veil while Harry was there to stop it.

He would make sure of it.

* * *

Marvalo sighed in frustration as he stared down at the mess of maps and charts and papers and crumpled piles of parchment around him. He had been trying to focus on his plans for over an hour now but his mind kept wandering off to Severus and his recent discovery. He was supposed to be drafting a formal treaty to present to the vampires in order to gain their support. But the most he had been able to put down on the page was a few meaningless jargons meant to confuse the opposite party along with himself.

After a week straight of doing nothing but obsessively trying to find out how Harrison had ended up with the Potter’s, Severus had burst into his study and demanded he focused his attention on something else. Neither of them had gotten an ounce of rest since they had found out nor had they come up with a proper way to inform the Malfoy’s.

Marvalo had never been close to the family, of course he knew Lucius’ father, Abraxas. He was one of his first followers during the time he was getting out of Hogwarts. He had never stood out too much, preferring to be a background player, but he was a great wizard. It wasn’t until Severus started to drag him around to the Malfoy’s that he began to bond with the family.

Lucius and Narcissa were still respectively cautious around him but they knew they could speak their opinion to him and be heard. The Malfoy boy, however, was still rather skittish around him. Draco only seemed to be comfortable with him if Severus was near to ‘ _hold him in check_ ’ as his husband had so kindly pointed out to him.

The thought of the boy made Marvalo frown. Harrison was his intended. The two couples were elated when they learned what a good match their children would make. The Malfoys for the prestige they would earn having their son be betrothed to the Dark Lord’s heir and Severus for the simple fact that his Godson would become his son-in-law.

But that happy dream had been shattered that midsummer day when Harrison had been taken from his stroller. Draco had been told all his life that Harry was dead. For a long time, Marvalo thought that Draco was unaffected by this news, after all, he was hardly that much older than Harrison at the time this all occurred. The Malfoy heir probably never remembered a single thing about him.

It had come as a shock then, when Marvalo discovered a few weeks after his rebirth, that Draco often sat to look at the relics of Harrison’s childhood. Harrison had his own room back at the Riddle estate, but with the amount of time Marvalo spent at the Malfoy Manor, he also had a crib right next to Draco’s. The room had been filled with toys for the toddlers most belonging to the young Malfoy, but there were a few objects that remained at the manor for convenience's sake.

These were the things that Draco would sit with. As if something might spark a hazy memory from the boy.

The more he thought of it though, the more sense it made. The ritual used in Pureblood matching points out the person you are most likely to connect with, someone who you would be able to grow with and stay by. It was how Lucius and Narcissa knew that they were a good match for each other, much like most Pureblood couples. Draco knew who his match would be, and he would never get to experience what that feeling was like.

Only now, he would be able to. Harrison was very much alive, and he had been sitting right under their noses the entire time. Dumbledore must have been busting a gut over the situation. He had successfully managed to trick his foe into not only creating his own demise but trying to kill his offspring as well.

Marvalo clenched his fist at the thought.

And now he and Severus needed to tell him.

Oh, they had no doubt that he would be overjoyed.

Initially.

But once they told him what happened. Who he was. Marvalo feared that the boy would come to resent him and Severus, maybe even himself and his family. None of them had ever shown much kindness to Harry. He may resent the fact that he grew up spending the better half of his Hogwarts years tormenting his betrothed.

Or maybe Malfoy would resent Harry even more. Hate him for not being what he expected and for his commitment to the light.

Not even the great Lord Voldemort knew how the young teen would react to the news. And he was dreading it.

As the sun finished its descent behind the horizon, the Dark Lord pulled out a crisp sheet of parchment. Perhaps it would be easier to try to draft that treaty once more. Matters of the heart were always beyond his comprehension or expertise anyways.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy looked out over the grounds of his sprawling manor. The view had changed little from when he was growing up. The garden may have grown from the attentive nature of his wife’s care. And the flock of exotic birds kept at the manor had moved on to newer generations. However, the rolling grounds that were surrounded by dense forest had changed little. Tall hedges made up the front courtyard with stairs that led up into the foyer. The sides of the manor closed in by the hedges before they let out to the expansive yard in the back that housed the garden and pitch built for Draco during his younger years as his interest in sports grew. The grounds also allowed room for the greenhouse that housed Narcissa’s more delicate tropical plants and created an exotic setting for afternoon tea.

From where he sat, Lucius could see the top of the greenhouse peaking out from the gardens and the tall rows of cypress trees guarding the main path up to the terrace. The albino peacocks had gathered at the end of the row and were pecking at the ground or preening. He could recall the many times he had sat as a child and looked out this window. Growing from a boy until now, life seemed to pass passively. Even with the war, Lucius felt that he could find consistency in his life as this pastime quickly became a ritual.

Growing up under the watching eye of his father and mother, Lucius could confidently say he had blossomed. He exceeded all expectations set for him as he grew into the wizard he was today. He could still remember the proud look on his father’s face when he became the highest ranked wizard of his grade and then became the first of his peers to join the Dark Lord’s ranks next to his family.

The Malfoy name had never been one to sneer at but with Lucius, the name had only grown in social standing. His quick thinking and political prowess had ensured his high standing and he had foolishly assumed that nothing could stop him. During his service to Voldemort, he had evaded the Ministry and its judicial system with ease. Claiming to be under the Imperius curse and getting away with it had bolstered his confidence in his Slytherin abilities. The blunderheads at the Ministry couldn’t touch him.

‘ _Too big to fail._ ’ Lucius mused, the Muggle phrase popping to mind.

Now, however, Lucius mused that this maybe one of the last times he would look out onto the grounds of his manor. One of the last times he could sit in peace and let the rays of sun from outside warm himself. The home and family he had spent his life building for himself would be stripped from him for his crimes.

The head of the Malfoy House was no fool. He knew that he would not evade Azkaban for the second time. At the end of the summer, his fate would be sealed, and he would be doomed to the dementors halls for the rest of his life. Slowly his faculties would fail him, and his mind would crumble from exposure to those dark creatures.

So he sat, and he enjoyed those last dregs of freedom spared to him before the end.

Lucius was unsure of how much time had passed before he was disturbed by the appearance of his long time friend. Severus swept into the room, his cloak billowing out behind him from that ridiculous charm. He remembered when his younger friend had discovered it for the first time. The young potions protegee had thought it would be the perfect intimidation tactic. He had tried it on those Marauders but it hadn’t had any effect, though the third year continued to use the charm. Lucius imagined his friend just liked the aesthetic of his flaring robes.

The potions master quickly zoned in on Malfoy and approached.

“Narcissa has been looking for you. She’s trying to plan Draco’s birthday party and she wants your input. I don't see why he needs another party. His birthday was during Hogwarts final term but she insists on having one during the summer as well.” The dour man sat in the armchair across from the blonde as he spoke and gave a sigh. “She’s been on about this for days now. Draco’s about ready to revolt and retreat to his friend’s residence.” Lucius gave a slight nod, showing that he had heard the man. Severus must have picked up on his subdued manner and narrowed his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

That was the question. Lucius raised his head as he continued to look out the window, unwilling to part sight with the view. He had excepted what was coming to him but he knew it wouldn’t be that simple for others.

“I need to ask something of you, Severus,” Lucius spoke softly, his voice barely rising over a whisper. “When Draco was born, I was very apprehensive. I knew nothing of what was expected of me. Abraxas, while being a great man and mentor, was lacking in the father department.” Severus remained quiet. He knew this already of course, but he figured his friend had a reason for airing out this subject. “As it turned out, I didn’t need to worry about anything. Narcissa was more than capable of steering me in the right direction and believe me it happened often.” A small smile graced his face as the Malfoy head reminisced.

“Draco is the perfect heir. The perfect soon. But he has much to learn about the world. He is too hopeful and naive still. I know he believes that I will walk out of the Ministry a free man at the end of the summer.” Severus’ breath caught as he listened. They both knew it was true. Lucius was a dead man walking. He was simply enjoying his last few days for freedom before being called to the wolves.

That didn’t make it any easier to take, however.

Something in Lucius' voice made him want to protest. Made him want to find a speck of hope for the man. Even if it was a far off chance, it was devastating to see the man he had looked up to for so long be utterly subdued in the face of his trial. He used to think Lucius was like a numen in the ministry. A sort of untouchable being. The man artfully danced around his opponents on the political field and manipulated others into fulfilling his biding with the ease of his breathing. It was hard to accept that Severus would never get to see his friend like that again.

“You don’t know that for sure. The Selwyn family has the largest number of votes on Wizengamont. I’m sure he could be convinced to keep you out of Azkaban. He was willing to help in the last war. He kept most of us from there with his votes, including you.” This was true. The Lord was the proxy for a lot of old houses that were either unable or uninterested to utilized their vote. In the first war, Marvalo had convinced the man to be an ally and use his votes to keep his important Death Eaters from facing Azkaban.

“The Dark Lord already considered that,” Lucius responded, looking away from the window and turning to his companion. “The Ministry learned from the last time. The reason they had withheld from giving me a trial right away was due to them. Two days ago Tiberius left for his tour of Europe with his family. They won’t be back until just before Hogwarts term begins. Today my trial date was confirmed. It’s set for three weeks before he returns.”

“Can’t we send a letter to him to inform him of the trial?” Severus asked desperately but the blonde merely shook his head.

“He only stays at his vacation home with the Fidelius charms. No letter could get to him unless the sender knows his location. Unfortunately, this information is unknown and Tiberius is his own secret keeper.” Severus leaned back into his chair, digesting the man’s words. “The situation is bleak, Severus. And I cannot expect you to come up with a solution. No, I know that there is none for me.”

Lucius leaned forward imploringly.

“What I need from you, Severus, is to promise me that you’ll take care of Draco. I will no longer be there to guide him and Narcissa will be caught up in her grief as well. I cannot put all the weight of caring for Draco on her alone.” Severus frowned.

“We’ll find a way. It won’t come to that. The Dark Lord-“

“Has already told me that there is nothing he can do. This isn’t like last time Severus. We do not have the resources we used to. Our Lord has only recently come back to his power. The army that once was has dispersed. It’s a mere shadow of what it once was. The Ministry has ensured it’s victory.”

“Nott and Greengrass have twenty votes between the two of them. We can win with that-“

“They are calling in Longbottom and some of our spies suspect that Weasley will make an appearance as well, however meager his input will be. The Light is pulling out all the stops this time. Don’t try to convince me of the impossible, Severus. Draco is already spitting mad that I’m not raising a fuss at the Ministry due to my house arrest. I’m afraid that he won’t accept what’s going to happen until the moment he sees them cart me off to Azkaban.”

“There must be something!” Severus exclaimed. Lucius remained silent as he observed the wound up state the potions master was in. He knew the man cared from him as Lucius had looked out for him ever since he found him at Hogwarts. It was oddly nice to see that the normally stoic man could lose his composure like this over him.

“Severus, I need you to stop worrying about me. You and I both know I won’t be walking out of that courtroom without an armed escort. I need you to think of Draco now. I won’t be able to prepare him for that. He’s going to need his Godfather now more than ever.”

“Lucius,” Severus said softly. He could see the determination in the other's pale grey eyes. He was convinced that this was his only option, and Severus couldn’t help but agree with the man. Tiberius was their saving grace, without him, there was nothing stopping the Malfoy head from his fate. His only concern now was for the health of his family.

“Promise me, Severus.” Lucius demanded as his hands clutched the arms of his chair. The potions master remained silent for a moment before bowing his head.

“I already promised to do so years ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, I was out of town visiting family for Labor day weekend. I hope you all had a nice weekend as well! I also hope you enjoyed this new chapter! Let me know what you thought of it down below. I am very excited to introduce Lucius' POV to the story. There are more exciting things to come! The next chapter will show Harry as he finally visits a curse breaker and a few extra bonus snippets. Thanks for reading!


	6. Warnlid & Patching Curse Breakers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “It ani’t what you don't know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”

In the early morning, there was hardly anyone out and about in Diagon Alley. Shopkeepers were just opening their doors and pulling open their window curtains to let the meager morning light shine in from the typical morning fog. In a few hours, the street would fill with a mash of wizards and witches passing through for shopping or business. The hustle and bustle would drown out the peaceful morning bliss.

Harry stood outside the pristine stone building the goblins had given him directions to. The structure looked like it was carved from a giant slab of stone. It stood tall and straight with precise cut bushes framing the doors and sides. It stood out from the other buildings on Diagon, merely for its uniform and professional appearance whereas the other businesses around it had leaning buildings suspended by magic while their windows and walkways were bursting with merchandise.

 _Warnlid & Patching Curse Breakers_ _Est. 1852_ was engraved into the stone above the large double doors that took up almost the entire front of the building. Though Harry had been to Diagon on multiple occasions, he found it hard to believe that he never noticed it before.

Then again, whenever he was usually at Diagon, he was being carted around by his chaperones. He had never really gotten the chance to explore the alley before. Perhaps he could later after his meeting with the curse breaker.

Harry quickly made his way up and into the building as he remembered the time. He hardly wanted to be late when Griphook had been the one to set up the meeting. Harry had a feeling that he truly didn’t want to upset the goblin by making a bad impression with his tardiness. As he stepped into the lobby the grandfather clock in the corner chimes pleasantly letting out eight low chimes. Harry was oddly reminded of a muggle lobby for fancy law offices or firms from the shows that Dudley watched on the telly.

The marble floor gleamed and there was a small waiting area that looked more like a sitting room. Complete with a fireplace, two armchairs, a carved bookcase filled to the brim, and a few potted plants. In the middle of it all was a desk that sat at the back of the room. A young witch sat writing something down with a large quill that stuck out just above her head from its long length. As the door closed behind him, she looked up.

“Mr. Potter?” She set down her quill and stood from her seat as she spoke. Harry mutely nodded before wracking his brain for a response.

“I’m here to see,” Harry trailed off as he fumbled with his jacket pockets and pulled out the crumpled letter from Griphook. “Umm, Mr. Droop.” His statement sounded more like a question but the lady nodded sagely before gesturing to a set of doors Harry hadn’t noticed before.

“He is waiting for you inside. If you would like, I could hold on to your things. I’ve been informed that the process may take a while.” Harry clutched onto the strap of his bag for a moment before loosening his grip and nodding. After a life living with the Dursley’s one was never comfortable in just handing over their bag. Though Harry knew the lady meant nothing by it other than to keep safeguard over his things, he would be forever skeptical of others.

Slowly he relinquished his bag and step through the high double doors.

Inside it looked much like the entry with a large dark stained wooden desk at its center and two comfortable looking armchairs in front of it. Behind the desk sat a rather young man. Younger than Harry would have expected. In Harry’s mind, he half expected the curse breaker to look older and much more like Dumbledore. Though if Harry thought about it, Mrs. Weasley said her son Bill was a curse breaker and he was only a few years out of Hogwarts now.

Mr. Droop was a tall slender frame, not one that was toned or trained but reminded Harry of Petunia’s lanky and slender frame. A bush of brown hair sat at the top of his head and fell to just above his eyebrows. He wore a smart suit, one that looked muggle rather than traditional wizard robes. He wore reading glasses, but Harry reasoned that they must be for show rather than necessity as Droop was peaking over the top of them as he read the scroll on his desk.

The curse breaker looked up as Harry walked in and he smiled warmly.

“Mr. Potter, you’re right on time! Come sit, sit!” The man seemed to have an excess in energy as he perked up and gestured to the armchairs in front of him excitedly. Warily, Harry sat, resting his hands in his lap and fiddling with the hems of his shirt. “Griphook had taken the liberty of sending me over your information.” At this Harry’s head shot forward with alarm. Had the goblin sent this man his inheritance test? Did he see the truth? “I can tell from your face that you’re concerned. Rest assured he only sent me a list of the curses and blocks on your core.” Harry immediately relaxed in his chair as Droop spoke. “Odd thing this is. Usually, Gringotts tests will show who had placed these blocks, mainly for the Ministry. Those folks like to easily be able to find those sorts of things out. Very handy. Very handy, indeed.”

Harry frowned.

“Do you mean that the caster's name should be listed?” Droop looked up from his parchment and blinked dumbly for a moment.

“Oh, yes!” He finally replied. “Usually there is, that just means that whoever did this never wanted to be found out and they employed the help of a very powerful wizard or witch. Makes me wonder,” The man trailed off and tapped the parchment. Harry opened his mouth to ask what he was thinking but Droop continued. “There are quite a large amount of blocks on you, Mr. Potter. Am I correct in assuming you would like the blood wards on Privet Drive to remain intact?” Harry nodded slowly after considering the question. “Excellent. It must have been a very complicated ritual. I hardly believe that just one person alone could have pulled this off.” The man suddenly leveled a serious look at Harry. “Do you understand what that means?”

Harry thought about it for a moment. If more than one person participated in the ritual to hide Harry’s true abilities and heritage. Then that would mean….

There were multiple people that knew who Harry really was and what he was capable of.

Suddenly, Harry found himself racking his brain. Who would have wanted to do this to him? Who would have had the power to do so? Droop said that whoever hid the trace from Gringotts test had to be very strong. Strong enough and smart enough to get past the Ministry. There were only two people that came to Harry’s mind.

Voldemort. The man that has constantly tried to kill him but was also his father. Would Tom be threatened by his own child so much as to block Harry’s Magic so profoundly? Would he stunt him just to remain at the top? Harry found that he had no evidence to support anything otherwise.

However, his other option was Dumbledore.

The Headmaster who had been nothing but kind to him. Who had his best interests at heart since the day Harry had met the man. But did that exclude him from taking liberties? Would the Headmaster put blocks on Harry to contain his dark magic? Dark magic he had no doubt gotten from his parents. Would he do so knowing that it could have negative effects on Harry’s growth and health?

Harry thought of the past year. The summer before fifth year and the lack of letters on Dumbledore’s orders. Him avoiding Harry even though he had chased after the man constantly in search of help and answers. The fact that the man had kept a prophecy that so obviously was something that Harry should know. The secrets, the way the man sidestepped the important questions.

Yes, either man could have done it.

But it was early to assume anything. There could have been someone else entirely. It was a possibility that neither one of them was involved. With what Harry knew, which was practically nothing, anything could have happened.

Harry nodded mutely in response to the curse breaker. Droop hummed thoughtfully before continuing.

“I would like to perform another test on you. If the caster was able to hide this much from the inheritance test, it may have been able to hide more. If I may?” At Harry’s nod Droop stood from his desk and grabbed a large clay basin from the shelves behind his desk. Setting it down carefully on the tabletop, he filled the bottom of the bowl with a fine layer of what looked to be mineral crystals.

“I’ll need a few drops of your blood.” Droop said holding a dagger out for Harry. Reaching forward, Harry mumbled under his breath.

“Why does everything in the Wizarding World require you to spill some blood?”

“Because your magic and its signature are woven in your blood just as much as your DNA is.” Droop answered simply, a smirk on his lips. Harry blushed, embarrassed over being overheard. “It’s actually not very common knowledge funnily enough. Using blood like this is considered blood magic. It’s relatively harmless but the Ministry strictly forbids the use of it outside of practices such as these and with Gringotts. They’re not allowed to teach it at Hogwarts anymore either.”

“Why would they do something like that?” Harry asked confused as he poked his finger with the blade and let a few drops of blood fall into the basin. If it was mainly just used for these kinds of tests, Harry saw no harm in the students of Hogwarts learning about it.

“Well, Blood magic is technically considered dark magic. It’s a well-known fact that the Ministry is very much against dark magic, has been since Grindelwald. It has many different uses. Not all bad, but if the caster had some bad intentions a vial of blood from the person they don’t like, well you know.” Droop shrugged. “Blood can reveal a person’s every secret and it never lies.” Harry really didn’t know but he decided not to ask. The topic seemed to make the curse breaker uncomfortable. “Here we go!” The other suddenly exclaimed as he leaned over the bowl.

Slowly the blood had spread out and created an odd spiderweb between the crystals. The crystals that had been touched by the blood slowly turned clear before turning to ashy shades of purple and grey. Droop seemed to find this fascinating as he scribbled some notes on the parchment he had been glancing over their entire meeting. After a moment he seemed to doodle on the parchment before assessing his work and nodding firmly.

“Alright Mr. Potter, please follow me.” The curse breaker practically skipped to another set of doors to the left. Harry found himself tripping over himself to catch up with the hyperactive Mr. Droop.

Disappearing through the doors, Harry found himself standing in a large cavernous room made of rough dark stone and a smooth, polished floor that looked to be made from black marble. Candelabras were built into the wall and were the only source of light. In the center of the room, a large chalk runic circle took up a large amount of space. Small circles sat nestled within large letters from some foreign alphabet that Harry wasn’t familiar with. Strange patterns made up the structure and innards of the circle in a complicated mixture.

It was this circle that Harry found Droop murmuring over as he waved his wand. Slowly some of the lines altered and twisted. Some parts disappearing completely before being replaced by something else entirely. All in all, Harry couldn’t make heads or tails of the man’s murmurings or actions. Suddenly he felt like all that time he spent trying to read those books on runes was wasted.

Droop stopped suddenly and gave a decisive nod.

“Okay, we’re ready.” He said, turning to Harry. Harry blinked at the man in shock.

“Now?” Droop rushed over to Harry before pulling on his arm towards the middle of the circle. “This wasn’t just going to be a consultation? We talk about it then wait a few days before- I don’t know.” Harry trailed off unsure but the curse breaker frowned.

“Why would we wait? Talk about it and then wait? I’m a curse breaker, not a mind healer. We will do this now.” Droop moves out of the circle, leaving Harry alone in the center.

“But what is this going to do?” Harry asked, tracking Droop's movements as he scooted around the edge of the circle lighting candles that he placed in random spots.

“Remove the curses. Now I would suggest sitting down. This may be a shock to your system. There are the blocks on your magic that need to be addressed but also some concerning physical effects to your person as well.”

“Physical effects?” Harry asked, his voice raising an octave in his stress. The tests said nothing about curses that would affect him physically. Except for the eyesight but Harry thought that wasn’t too big of a deal. Droop no longer seemed to be paying him any attention as he looked around the circle once more and clapped his hands.

“Fantastic. I will begin now. You may feel some discomfort.”

“Wait, what are you talking about!” Harry exclaimed as Droop pulled out his wand and started an incantation. But the man was fully concentrated. The runic circle slowly started to glow around Harry, and he felt Droop’s magic grow thick in the air. It made the room stifling. The cold, baren stone walls did nothing but trap in the magic, preventing it from escaping or soaking into the woodwork.

In moments, Harry felt the magic take hold of him, and he found himself slowly sinking to his knees as he became lightheaded and weak. He felt the exact moment that Droop began to undo the blocks on his magic as it felt like he was tugging on a tightly wound string that dragged across his skin bitingly. His arms and legs felt like pins and needles as he lost the ability to move. He then fell from his knees to the floor, his body being unable to support itself anymore.

The circle began to glow brighter and brighter. It wasn’t a stark bright white that Harry had imagined. Instead, it was a rainbow of colors that melded and shifted with and against another. They looked like pieces of a machine working together and grinding against one another as Droop guided his magic to deconstruct fifteen-year-old curses. If Harry could hear anything other than the faint buzzing in his ear, he would swear that this magic had its own sound. A forceful orchestra that broke down structures and was quickly reconstructed with a soft healing melody.

Harry found that watching this was far more soothing than letting his mind run rampant with the knowledge that he didn’t know and the ritual that was currently going on that he didn’t understand. Instead, he let his mind wander off into a blissful state as the colors blended together and pulled apart.

The peacefulness didn’t last forever, however, as Harry felt a sharp pain in his chest. He let out a startled yelp as the pain intensified and his body spasmed.

“I’ve found the root, Mr. Potter. But you should know this will be far from pleasant. I will try my best, but you will experience some pain.” Mr. Droop spoke, never pausing in his wand waving. Harry could only nod in response. He was used to pain. That he could handle.

A tangled golden net began to construct itself over the circle. Harry remembered reading something like it in one of his books. It was a sort of astral projection. The magic user could create a visual representation of the curse or core they were working on and find a physical attachment to work on. It made it easier to identify and unwind curses or binds on an object or wizard. From what Harry recalled, they were easy to use and helpful because once they were erected, the solution came easily.

This, however, looked nothing like the books had described. This was a maze, a knot, a corroded mesh that fused together from years of development. There were strings that looped around and through one another. Some that strayed far out before swerving and diving headlong back into the tangle once more.

It was a mess.

When Droop went to tug on one of the looser strings, Harry let out a ruff gasp. A sudden spike of pain tugged at his spine before disappearing altogether. He could see the sympathetic glance that Droop shot him before he dived into the tangle. At that moment, Harry’s mouth open in a silent scream. It felt like someone was reaching their hand inside his body and shifting things out of place.

Suddenly, Droop made a sharp movement and the cords snapped and ripped themselves away. This time Harry’s scream was not silent. It was loud, but short-lived seeing as seconds after this happened, Harry found himself falling into unconsciousness.

In the last few seconds, before his eyes shut, Harry could see the candles snuffing out and pitching the room into darkness.

* * *

Griphook stomped through the gilded halls of Gringotts. A crumpled missive in one claw, he glared at any junior staff he came across as he made his way to the section of offices for Nobel family account managers. He was just on his way back from the receiving room where he had gained his letter.

Arriving at his destination, Griphook took no time with pleasantries such as knocking, instead slamming the door to the office open in rage. Two goblins sat inside, obviously conversing with each other when Griphook barged in.

“Bagrock!” The goblin yelled at the slightly bigger form seated behind the desk. The Goblin in question merely raised his eyebrows unphased.

“You rogue! I told you not to do it! It went directly against the account holder's wishes.” Bagrock didn’t seem to need any reference as to what Griphook was talking about. In fact, he seemed to be expecting Griphook to stop by at some point judging by his now amused expression.

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Bagrock said the beginnings of a smile on his lips.

“Nothing wron- Potter declined the offer to bid for access to the Prince and Slytherin accounts. If he declined access to them, then you had no reason to send out a notice that he had the opportunity to gain access to them!”

“Correction, he _still_ has the opportunity to access them,” Griphook growled in exasperation.

“Only if he asks permission. Which he hasn’t.” This was an outcome he had feared when the whole ordeal began. Bagrock was the manager of multiple accounts, Slytherin and Prince were two that he held, something the goblin never let anyone forget. But most importantly, Griphook never got along with Bagrock. The other goblin always seemed far too sure of himself and tricky. He wasn’t one to dive into battle with brawn. He’d rather use his brains and taunt his enemy, like a cat playing with its dinner.

When it was revealed that the Potter and Slytherin accounts would be merged, Griphook could have bashed his head into a wall. He would rather eat nails than work with Bagrock but here he was, mere days after the revelation, already butting heads with the other account manager.

It was all over the bank by now, almost every goblin knew about it. The fact that the Slytherin heir was alive and was hidden away under magical blocks and binds with the Potter name. Griphook hadn’t spoken a word to anyone. It was all the teller and the Goblins he worked with that did the spreading. Now Griphook was given sly looks as he was met with either congratulations or condolences on his situation.

The fact was; no one really liked Bagrock.

Unfortunately, he was a damn good account manager.

“Prince and the Dark Lord still needed to be informed. Their heir is alive, let alone the fact that he now has early access to his inheritance.” Bagrock said this flippantly as he closed the file in front of him and handed it to the goblin he was talking to. The other took the file quickly and raced from the room, ready to escape Griphook’s raging.

“He never claimed the heirship!”

“He will the moment those curses are taken off him and you know it. In fact, shouldn’t that be happening right now? Once the curse breaker is done, Potter will have a right to everything in their accounts.”

“Rights that he had no intention of claiming anytime soon!” Bagshot seemed to have enough of this banter as his smile quickly disappeared and Griphook was pinned with a glare.

“You did what was in the best interest of your client. I did what was in the best for mine. I see no issue with my actions. If anything, I should bring this up with Head Goblin Kryduld. You were deliberately withholding information pertaining to the Prince and Slytherin accounts.”

“Head Goblin- that is asinine! I did nothing that was outside of Potter’s rights. He deserved his silence.”

“Are you trying to convince me that you were concerned for Potter rather than the accounts that name carries with it?” This made Griphook falter. It was no secret that he was only concerned with the gold that came with wizards. He was not fond of wizards whatsoever. He never tried to hide it, as he found his feelings were mostly mutual when it came to Wizards. “You have little loyalty to anything that isn’t gold or bronze, Griphook. The Potter accounts are important, I will contest to that, however, we can not afford to make enemies with the Dark Lord. Not while the embers of the war are coming aflame once more.”

“We are goblins! We don’t take sides in these matters!” Griphook growled, but Bagrock only nodded sagely.

“No, but we conduct our deals to better promote our business. If we upset Voldemort due to our silence, he will cause such violence that he will deter everyone away from Gringotts. By handing this information over, we are wiping our hands clean and removing ourselves. We cannot afford to lose everything over your accounts.” Griphook was seething, but he understood the other’s words. If they had not told Voldemort, then if it ever came out that they knew the truth, the Dark Lord would have destroyed the bank. They all knew that he was a vengeful man.

He could imagine it all too well. The man would probably attack the building first. He would make it crumble and crush the goblins inside with their own building before driving away all their business. Then he would hunt down every one of them and make them pay for their transgressions. Finally, he would strip them of their most valuable and coveted possession. Their gold. In the wake of the Dark Lord, they would be left with nothing and their race would be razed.

No, it would not due to gain the Dark Lord’s malice.

“Then what do I tell Potter? That we went directly against his wishes?” Griphook grumbled out.

“It’s just as I said, Griphook. We never told them his identity. We just informed them of the addition to their accounts.” Bagrock grinned, his teeth shining in a pointed row. Griphook’s eyes widened before he let out a sharp nod and left the office.

If that was how Bagrock wanted to play it, then he supposed he wouldn’t have to send out a letter anyways.

* * *

The massive family tree that took up an entire wall in the black manor was not uncommon in Pureblood families. After all they prided themselves on their family trees. Bloodlines that were built up over centuries. They were names that had survived and remained through the tests of time. The Malfoy’s had one in their sitting room actually. It wasn’t nearly so tasteless as the Black’s, meaning that it wasn’t postured on a wall. It was a rather thick book that drew out the branches of the tree delicately. Each page told the story of that generation. Carefully detailing achievements and marriages.

This inspired Severus to begin one. Marvalo had not been easily convinced to agree to it. Though he was proud of his Slytherin heritage, he was less proud of the Guant family, even more so for his father’s muggle blood. However, they did create one. It was a small pastel blue book with silver inlay that traced the edges and wrote out the words _Riddle-Prince_ on the cover. It was thin as they only vaguely traced back to Salazar Slytherin with little detail and only showed Severus’ mother from his side of the family. They were most proud of the name beneath their own; _Harrison Jax Riddle-Prince_.

Severus would sit next to Marvalo who quietly listened while his husband would list out all the names that would appear under and around Harrison’s. They would dream of a large family that would contrast drastically with the lonely childhood and absent family they endured in their past. They would fight over the names of children and grandchildren stating that _‘No Marvalo, we are not naming a grandchild after an ancient wizarding alchemist. Well, I don’t care what kind of rock he made, Flamel is a terrible name._ ’

But that dream quickly ended a mere few days after Harrison’s disappearance. When his name slowly turned from black to an uncertain purple. Months later found the book sitting abandoned and then packed away with other untouched books and relics from the past. Things that spoke of a child that seemed to vanish after his first birthday. There it sat for years, gathering dust. The pages starting to dry and yellow from disuse and the pastel color faded to a muted blue.

It sat and sat until it was rummaged from the box by a curious twelve-year-old Draco who was just told the fate of his betrothed for the first time. The young boy would trace his fingers over the name in something halfway between curiosity and sorrow. Over the years, the book had been forgotten by the couple, so Draco saw no harm in stowing away the book in his room. Hiding it from the house elves and prying eyes.

There, alone in his room, he could sit and daydream on what Harrison would have been like. He could imagine the pale alabaster skin like his Godfather. Or maybe he would have Severus’ jet black hair. He would enjoy reading one day or the next Harrison couldn’t stand it and would rather spend his time exploring the expansive grounds with Draco. He would have black or brown eyes. He would be taller than Draco, but no, maybe he was shorter. Then again, he could be exactly his height.

Draco would smile fondly as he imagined the boy but then the moment would be gone, and he would remember his father’s words. Harrison was dead, or at least he was stolen from them. Draco would never get the chance to meet him or talk with him. He would never even get to see him.

Somedays he resented the fact that he had ever asked about who he was betrothed to. Somedays he was happy he at least knew who his perfect match was. Somedays he wished he could tear any remnants of Harrison from his mind. And somedays he sat, and he clutched the book to his chest, unwilling to believe that fate would be so cruel as to take away his intended before he could ever know him.

And in this fashion, time had passed. The lineage book remained in the rooms of heir Malfoy. It remained only to be pulled out in moments of fondness or depression. Otherwise, it remained, tucked in the back of his dressing room where no one would take note of it. No one would notice, as when Harry Potter fell to the floor unconscious and the binds on him had snapped, that the name _Harrison Jax Riddle-Prince_ would turn from a murky purple to a bold proud black that stated it’s certainty. No one would notice as another name was scrawled under the words: _nee Harry James Potter_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. We've been working on a new project at work and it's been monopolizing my time. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Next time we will get to see what changes were brought about with the ritual. Leave me a comment on what you think is happening, what is going to happen, who you think did what and why!  
> I'll see you lovelies next time!


	7. Sixteen Candles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Men are so quick to blame the gods: they say that we devise their misery. But they themselves- in their depravity- design grief greater than the griefs that fate assigns.”

When Harry woke up his first thought was that he ached all over. It felt like someone had rolled him up and shot him through the floo network for an hour before letting him wrestle a troll again. When he tried to open his eyes, he found that the room was far too bright and he reached up to block the light from reaching his eyes.

As he brought his hand to his face, he heard shuffling to his side and a rushing sound. Next thing he knew, an excited Mr. Droop was leaning over him with a broad smile on his face.

“Mr. Potter! Fantastic, you’re awake. You were out for longer than I anticipated, though I must admit the changes made were quite drastic. Not even I suspected this much to happen.” As he spoke, he pulled Harry’s protesting body to an upright position and started to pass him vials of potions. “I’ll need you to take these, you must be feeling some discomfort now. These should ease the pain you are probably feeling at the moment. I was expecting that you see. I must say that you are quite the character. Always bringing the most interesting surprises. You gave my secretary quite a fright when I had to carry you out of the ritual chamber.”

Harry brought the vials to his lips without thinking much of it. His mind was boggled from the excitable nature of the curse breaker and his hyper topic hopping. It reminded Harry of Ron’s familiar, Pig. Each of the three potions he took tasted worse than the last, leaving a chalky film on his tongue that had him scrunching up his nose. When he handed Droop back the last vial, the curse breaker gave a decisive nod.

“There, now that that’s out of the way we can get down to it.” In a moment, Harry blinked and there was a large stack of parchment set down on his bed. “Here is the report pertaining to what blocks were placed on you and what I did to remove them. It’s a bunch of technical jargon. Now I’m not saying that you won’t understand it, but most people just gloss over it anyways. Rather, I like to break it down in simple terms.”

Harry pulled the stack towards him and blinked at the words displayed. Most of them went in-depth with the runes used in the circle and what role they played but Harry, as predicted, had a hard time following with his minimal knowledge of runes and curse breaking. Droop sat down in the chair next to the bed and continued speaking.

“You had a multitude of curses affecting you. There were the initial blocks uncovered by the inheritance test. However, the test I performed right before the ritual revealed the presence of a curse on your appearance as well as a compulsion spell that was renewed semi-annually.” Harry looked away from the papers and to the man with confusion.

“My appearance?” What could have changed about the way he looked? “Why would my appearance change?” At these words, Droop shifted uncomfortably in his chair and took a moment to search for the right words.

“I must state for the record, that everything I do for you today, and in the future, will all remain strictly confidential. I would never insult my character or a client by gossiping about their business.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “Having said that, I’ve seen similar cases like this when blood adoption was involved.”

The blood drained from Harry’s face as Harry’s heart rate elevated. He _knew_. Droop knew that the Potter’s weren’t his real parents. He was the only other person, excluding himself and Griphook. Harry could feel the panic rise in him.

“When an adoption is not accounted for in a ritual, it can react adversely in a way that is completely unpredictable. Effects could range anywhere from nothing at all to complete removal of the blood adoption.” At this, Harry dragged in a sharp breath. “I have not tested you for this yet, I thought it might be best to wait for you to be conscious.”

What would Harry do if the blood adoption had been stripped from him? He would have nothing left to the Potters. The idea of it felt like when he had first learned of his true heritage all over again. Harry may have been born to the Dark Lord and his consort, but Harry remained the son of the Potter’s. The ones who he knew for a fact, shown him kindness and love. Those who protected him and gave their lives so he could keep his own. Harry belonged to them.

But he may have just lost that connection to them.

He could now just be Harrison Jax Riddle-Prince. A boy born to the Darkest wizards he knew. The cruelest people he knew. Those who had shone him nothing but scorn and hatred. One of which had murdered the Potters in an attempt on his life. The other who had spent the better half of his life despising the Potters and him along with them.

He was afraid to find out.

But fear had no place in the heart of a lion. In the heart of a Gryffindor.

With a shaky breath, Harry spoke.

“I would like to know, please.” Droop paused a moment before nodding and producing another piece of parchment and a small dagger. Harry smiled a little before taking both from the curse breaker’s outstretched hands. “Blood never lies.” Harry echoed the man's words from earlier as he pricked a finger and let three drops land on the paper.

Harry offered the knife back to Droop as he watched the blood smear over the page, and just like before with his inheritance test, they slowly formed words.

_Harrison Jax Riddle-Prince_

_nee. Harry James Potter_

_Sire: Tom Marvalo Riddle_

_Carrier: Severus Tobias Snape (Prince)_

_Date of Birth: July 11 th, 1980_

_Godfather: Lucius Abraxsas Malfoy_

_Godmother: Narcissa Malfoy nee Black_

_Father: James Fleamont Potter (Blood Adoption) – Deceased_

_Mother: Lilly Jae Potter nee Evans (Blood Adoption) – Deceased_

_Date of Blood Adoption: July 31 st, 1981_

_Godfather: Sirius Orion Black - Deceased_

“If your adoptive parents are listed then the ritual had not completely removed their adoption. My guess would be that the ritual merely focused on your appearance and only affected that.” Droop said. Harry noticed that the man was avoiding looking at the paper. Harry found himself grateful that the man had the tact to not look over his shoulder and fish for the information. Suddenly a thought occurred to Harry.

“You said that there was a curse on my appearance? Wouldn’t that just be the adoption?” Harry asked confusedly, rolling the parchment to keep the words hidden. Droop turned his head back towards Harry with a frown on his face.

“Blood adoption, while it gives the child magical gifts of the adoptive parents, never changes the appearance of a child” The wizard shrugged. “I’m not sure why, after all they are mixing their blood in, but arithmancy explains that while that is true, the core of the child is still wholly based upon the genetics of their biological parents. To change that, you would have to rebuild their entire DNA, the building blocks of their being. That’s why there aren’t many other ways to changes one’s appearance outside Polyjuice and glamors.

“There are, of course, Metamorphmagi, but they are rare and modern day wizards haven’t a clue how they manage what they do. That’s why this is so odd. Whoever wanted you to look so different obviously didn’t want anyone, even yourself, knowing about the blood adoption.” Droop drew in a large breath. “As I said before, these charms would need to be maintained, as the only true way to change one’s appearance would be Polyjuice but that only lasts a few hours. Glamors give the illusion that someone looks different, but they have the downside of not being tangible. People will notice the change if they touch you.”

“To be honest, I haven’t an idea as to how someone had managed to change and maintain your looks for so long.”

Harry listened to the curse breaker’s words quietly. His thoughts flew through his brain as pieces clicked together in his mind. If changing his appearance was something so difficult, and it needed to be kept up over the years….

The only man he could think of was Dumbledore.

But why would the Headmaster do that? If the man knew who he really was, why would he hide him with the Potter’s? Would he go through all the effort of changing the way he looked and who his parents were if he knew he was the child of Voldemort? The thought made his head spin and he shook his head.

“So, what do I look like now?” Harry asked slowly. Ask he spoke the words, Harry imagined what a hybrid of Snape and Voldemort would look like, All he could imagine was a sneering version of the babe Voldemort was before his resurrection ritual. Protruding veins and sickly, shrill and angry.

“Ahh!” Droop exclaimed excitedly and produced a mirror with flourish as he handed it to Harry. He smirked faintly at the display before turning his attention to the mirror. He did not recognize the man in the mirror.

His skin was pale, not as ashen as Malfoy’s, it was more creamy than anything. He had softer cheekbones with rounder cheeks, not like Neville’s, but somehow similar. He still kept his strong jawline, but he now had a slight cleft in his chin. His bottom lip was full while his top was thin. His nose, thankfully, was slightly turned up and rounded at the tip, but it was not overly large. His hair was still black but now reached past his ears in loose waves. His neck was thinner, making it seem longer. But the most alarming difference was his blood-red eyes.

Startled, Harry almost dropped the mirror. Finding those eyes, Voldemort’s eyes, staring back at him was disconcerting. In his mind, those eyes triggered the instinct to run. Each time he saw those eyes, something bad happened. His life was at stake and those eyes belonged to the predator chasing him.

Now he would be faced with them whenever he looked in the mirror.

“Those eyes are remarkable. I’ve never heard of red eyes such as those except for one other.” The curse breaker suddenly spoke. Harry’s head whipped to the man, panic blooming in his chest. But he was only met with a blank stare from the other.

His feelings must have been written all over his face because the next words out of Droop’s mouth were the sincerest words that Harry had heard from the man yet.

“I could not imagine what you are going through, Mr. Potter, and I will not insult you by pretending I do. However, I do offer my support to you for whatever you may need from me in the future.” As he spoke, the man pulled something from his pocket and placed it on Harry’s lap. They were a pair of black, wire-rimmed glasses. His own glasses.

As Harry realized this, he reached up to confirm that he was not, in fact, wearing his glasses and he was seeing perfectly clear without them.

Harry lifted his gaze to the man as he gauged the truth of the man’s statement. And he found himself believing Droop. This man would be an alley to him in the future, whatever it may bring.

* * *

Opulence is the sign of wealth. By definition, it is its very nature. Glittering gems, sculpted marble, melted gold, flowing silks: all of these are a testament to the wealth of another. And if there was one thing that pureblood wizards knew, it was how to testify to their wealth. Rooms overflowed with these evidences. Plush armchairs, crystal tableware, chandeliers the size the Hogwart’s groundkeeper studded with diamonds and silver, gleaming floors so clear the Nott matriarch did not have to travel to the powder room to check her appearance.

In the Malfoy manor’s ballroom, they held the most extravagant parties. Anniversaries, political gains, fruitful investments, and -on nights like tonight- birthdays.

Draco stood in the center of the room, basking in the attention of their guests. It was well known that the Malfoys were a cornerstone in the wizarding world’s politics, therefore they were always the center of attention. In his immediate circle were his friends, Pansy, Vincent, Gregory, Blaise, and Theodore.

Around them were crowds of politicians, reporters, famous artists, alchemists, and even a star quidditch player if Draco recalled correctly. They were all talking with each other amicably, the room buzzing with chatter and laughter. Draco felt content. Through the masses, he could see his parents’ arm and arm as they talked with the head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes and his wife.

His father had been so tense lately and it was nice to see him relaxed, even if was only as relaxed as he allowed himself to be in public. His mother hadn’t been showing the same amount of stress his father had in the past weeks, though he expected as much from her. His mother had a much better poker face than his father.

“Draco, how has your summer been so far? I know you were complaining about wanting to get back to your own quidditch pitch. Did you get to try out your new broom?” Blaise questioned, nudging Draco in the shoulder lightly with his glass. Draco tore his eyes away and turned.

“Yes, actually. I’ll most definitely mop the floor with my own Firebolt. Slytherin will win the cup for sure. Took it out a few days ago, mother nearly had a fit when she saw how fast it could go. Nearly tossed father out the back.” Draco chuckled, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“Oh please, like you’ll ever beat Potter to the snitch. He’s never lost a game.” Pansy snickered into her cup, amused by Draco’s confident attitude.

“That’s not true! There was the game in second year and also third-“ Nott nudged in.

“He was attacked by a curse blunger and chased by dementors. Neither of those count unless you’d like to give it a go yourself?” Pansy raised an eyebrow turning to Theodore. The boy blanched before turning away before his face turned scarlet.

“Yes, Pansy, he hasn’t lost yet. But that’s only because he is the only seeker with the fastest broom on the market. Now I’ll run circles around him. Nothing is going to stop me from leading our team to victory.” Draco said as he snatched a glass off a passing tray.

“Is that right?” Another voice cut into the conversation. The group turned to see Marcus Flint striding up to them with a cocky smirk. “From what I remember, you were a lousy flyer Malfoy. In fact, the only reason you got your spot on the team was because of a shiny new broom collection.” Draco scowled, his good mood quickly evaporating.

“I’m an excellent flyer, Flint. You’re just all stuffed because you aren’t able to redeem yourself from your six-year losing streak.” Instead of being offended, Flint merely chuckled. He tipped his head towards the blonde.

“Remind me how many games you ever won?” Draco’s posture straightened even further. He had shot up over the past school year and was now at an even height with the man who was four years his senior.

“I’ve won lots of games.” Draco defended.

“But none against, Potter.” Flint quickly followed. Then he snorted than leaned in and spoke lowly. “Face it, Malfoy. You’ll settle in second place. It seems like all the Malfoy’s are doing that lately. Take your father for example.” The man let out a breathy laugh. “He’s on the chopping block right now. This time next year he’ll be half-mad from the dementors in Azkaban.”

Draco was silently seething. His knuckles were deathly pale from his tight grip on his glass as Flint pulled away. The man stopped to admire Draco’s seething glare before he turned and headed off in the direction he came from.

“Happy Birthday, Draco.” Flint tossed back before slipping into the crowd. Draco could feel the concerned stares of his friends but before anyone could speak, he shoved his glass onto a passing try and headed off for the doors.

Flint’s words stung. He didn’t care about quidditch or beating Potter. It was a game, something that meant more to him as a young schoolboy than now. However, the words against his father were something Draco was trying very hard not to acknowledge. Realistically, he knew that his father was not a great man. He wasn’t an angel; he had done cruel things for the sake of his success and his family. He was no saint. But had was not a bad person either.

Draco had grown up watching his father work. He knew his tactics and his strategies. But when the Dark Lord came back, Lucius was different. He was eager to help Uncle Severus and the Dark Lord obtain the damned prophecy. He offered himself to lead the mission. And that was what confused Draco the most. When his father had everything, his career, his family, his home. He risked it all willingly.

Severus had not asked him to. The Dark Lord did not order him. He walked to the pyre willingly.

Draco pushed through the crowd, paying no mind to who he was bumping into as he passed. He only wanted to get out of that room as soon as possible.

He had only just passed through the doors when he felt a hand latch onto his arm. In a fit of surprise and rage he wrenched himself to the side, tearing his arm out of the offenders grasp, and stumbled back. Breathing heavily, he looked over to see Severus and the Dark Lord standing together. Severus’ hand was pulled back to his chest and the Dark Lord stood behind him with a concerned furrow of his brow.

“Draco, where are you going? The party had barely started.” Severus asked, stepping closer to the blonde. Draco merely shook his head. The two obviously caught onto his foul mood because Severus continued. “Is something the matter, Draco?”

“Just stepping out for a moment.” He mumbled looking down towards the floor. If he were looking, he would have seen the hesitant look exchanged between his Godfather and his husband.

“Well,” Severus began, looking away from his partner. “I’m glad we found you so soon. Marvalo and I have something we need to share with you.” Draco looked up with a confused expression, waiting for him to continue. “It’s about Harrison.”

Silence. The only audible sound was the ragged breath Draco dragged in through his nose and the music and chatter from the ballroom. In that moment, Draco felt the anger from his conversation with Flint deflate, replaced by a constricting squeeze on his heart. Hands reached up and closed around his throat inhibiting his breath. Coals burned at the back of his eyes and the heartache he felt at twelve years old came back to him once more with more vengeance than the first time.

“I don’t want to talk about Harrison.” Draco forced out; his voice hoarse from his effort to restrain his emotions.

“Draco, this is important,” Severus stated firmly.

“I don’t care!” Draco suddenly shouted, his eyes were rimmed with red. “I don’t want to talk about Harrison. I don’t want to talk about anything right now.” He knew it was childish of him. He knew that his rash behavior was immature. But at the moment, he couldn’t care. He needed to leave.

Without sparing the couple another glance, Draco rushed off towards the second floor and flew through the hallways. Portraits shouted at him or exclaimed in surprise as he skidded around corners and slammed the door to his room closed behind him.

From his room, he could barely hear the music floating down the halls. The chatter was gone as well as the shouts from the portraits. Draco slumped back against his wall, knocking his head on the frame of the door. The sting behind his eyes hadn’t eased in his sprint but the constraint on his throat has lessened some.

Gasping in a large breath Draco’s eyes landed on his dressing room. Specifically, on the pile of folded trousers in the very back. Slowly the young blonde made his way towards the room. Just behind the stack laid a faded blue book, lined in silver and scuffed from its mistreatment.

Draco carefully thumbed the pages of the book. Caressing the thin rumpled pages as he was drawn back in time.

_Draco had barely touched down on platform 9 ¾ before he caught sight of his mother and father standing to the side of the train. The warm air hit in waves as Draco pulled his trunk behind him towards his parents. One would think the young heir would be bursting with excitement. Ready to launch into his tails at Hogwarts the moment he reached them._

_This, however, was not so. Instead, the young blonde nodded mutely at his parents before staring stoically at the ground. The two heads of Malfoy shared a quick glance before ushering their son from the platform._

_The entire ride back from the station Draco was unusually quiet. Narcissa knew that her son had enjoyed his first term at Hogwarts, if she went by the letters she had been sent. She couldn’t even begin to guess what had caused Draco’s subdued manner. He was almost despondent when she compared him to his excitement as they showed him off to his first year at Hogwarts._

_By they arrived at the gates of the manor, Lucius had a sour face. No doubt he was ready to hunt down what or whoever had upset his heir. Narcissa had to hold herself back from rolling her eyes. Lucius was a good father, though he wouldn’t realize it. However, his one downfall was his overwhelming habit of coddling Draco from whatever problems their son may face._

_Before Narcissa could say a word, Lucius was storming off to his study, ready to interrogate other Pureblood family heads for information on what their children may have done. The Malfoy Matriarch sighed before she turned, only to just catch glimpse of her child as he disappeared down the corridor towards his rooms._

_“This is asinine.” She mumbled under her breath as she lifted the hems of her robes and trailed after the child, exasperated. When she arrived, the door was already closed. Knocking lightly, Narcissa pushed open the door and stepped it._

_Draco was standing next to his bed, slowly unpacking his trunk. There were piles of close and schoolbooks, knickknacks, and mementos from his friends. Piles of things that by all reason should not have been able to fit in his trunk, but the Malfoy’s would have to be as poor as a Weasley if they ever let their child leave for a semester of school without a charmed trunk. In the young Malfoy’s solemn mood, he failed to notice his mother enter as he continued to pull out items._

_“You’re very quiet,” Narcissa spoke softly. To his credit, Draco didn’t startle too badly. A small jump of the shoulders but that was all. Draco didn’t show any signs that he had heard her, though she knew he had. “When you came to visit during winter break your father and I hardly got a break from your exciting storytelling. We thought the second half of the year would hold just as much adventure for you as the first.” She stepped closer as she was talking until she stood next to Draco. Once more he said nothing, instead, he was focused on the stacks organized on the bed. Sighing once more, Narcissa lowered herself to sit on the edge of the bed, facing her son. “What is wrong my little Dragon?”_

_Draco finally stopped and looked up at his mother with glassy eyes._

_“Theodore was talking about his betrothed on the train ride back.” Narcissa’s eyes widened minutely. “He was talking about some kind of ritual that told you who was supposed to be the person you’d fall in love with but when I asked him what he was talking about he thought I was joking. I didn’t say anything after that but everyone else was talking about the same thing too.” With shaking shoulders Draco clutched the comforter as he dropped his gaze._

_“Mother, do I not have one cause I’m broken?” Narcissa’s mouth dropped open in shock as she listened. Her eyes blinked rapidly as she witnessed her son start to cry with small hiccups. Quickly she gathered him into her arms and pulled him close to her chest._

_“My son, why would you ever think you’re broken?”_

_“Because all of the other children know who their intended is. Their parents performed the ritual. I don’t know why I wouldn’t have one as well.” Draco kept his face pressed to his mother’s arms as he spoke clutching her sleeves. Narcissa watched as her son folded himself into her embrace and the sorrowful look on his face as he did so._

_Narcissa and Lucius knew that they would need to tell Draco about Harrison at some point, but they never thought about when they would actually do it. Now, the Malfoy Matriarch realized that they should have done so long ago. Before he could be hurt by his friend’s passive and nonchalant attitudes when speaking of their intendeds._

_“Draco,” Narcissa began holding back the young blonde so she could more clearly look at him. “Come, let's find your father. There is something that we need to tell you._

That night, Draco learned what a compatibility ritual was. About how it pinpointed the one person best suited to be the one you spend the rest of your life with. Draco learned just who Harrison Jax Riddle-Prince was and why he mattered. And ever since that night, Draco has carried the weight of knowing that the one magic thought him to best be with was gone. Whether he was dead or not, he was gone. Draco would never know what his parents had when they grew up knowing they connected, that they were best suited for each other. He would never know what it might have been like to know Harrison or how well they may have fit together.

And maybe worst of all, since that night, Draco knew that he would have to live out the rest of his life watching as all those closest to him got what he would never have.

As the Malfoy heir recalled this, he continued to thumb the pages of the book. A small voice telling him to open it once more. To read Harrison’s name again and dream of the life that may have been. Just as the book was falling open in his hands, Draco shook himself. The pages snapped shut and he placed it back in its place.

He had already allowed himself to be rattled enough tonight. There was no reason for him to wallow anymore in his thoughts. Instead, Draco shook off his robes and walked back into his rooms.

For now, he would get some rest. Let his mind settle and his emotions disappear. It was his birthday party after all. Why shouldn’t he do whatever he wants?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go, guys! Another chapter. If you find any spelling or grammar errors please be gentle. I didn't get the chance to run through the whole thing before uploading. Let me know what you guys think. I hope that you guys enjoy it. What are your theories and what are your thinking will happen in the future? What did you guys think of Mr. Droop? What did you think of Draco's birthday party? LET ME KNOW! Thank you my lovelies!


	8. A Planned Vacation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Some rise by sin and some by virtue fall.”

During term, Hogwarts was bursting with activity. There were students running through the corridors and exploring the grounds. Professors doled out and deducted points as they passed. Familiars roamed the common rooms and some even snuck out igniting an exciting game of chase. Ghost and poltergeist alike floated through the halls freighting the first years.

During the summer, however, Hogwarts was much calmer. The grounds were nearly abandoned except for school board meetings in preparations for the next year or professors filtering in and out the doors. At the peak of one of the towers rested the Headmaster’s office. Throughout the year, this room remained mostly unchanged. The trinkets that were collected in the room whirred and spun in rapid movements, all telling a different story. The portraits on the walls roamed to other frames or conversed with one another as the Headmaster bent over the rolls of parchment stacked on his desk.

Fawkes rested on his perch, head tucked under his wing, sleeping soundly as the first few rays of the day passed through the window. Dumbledore found the early mornings to be quite enjoyable due to their quiet nature. It was far easier to complete his work in the morning before any interruptions than if he waited till later in the day.

Today, however, seemed to break that peaceful chain as he heard knocking on his doors. Popping his head up, Dumbledore saw Mad-Eye Moody make his way into the office with a slight hobble. The man looked just the same as he always did. His haggard appearance only emphasized by his wandering eye. Slowly, the headmaster set down his quill and folded his hands in front of him as he rested his elbows on the edge of the desk.

“Alastor, I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I don’t make a habit of announcing where I’ll be, Albus. Too many ears and people know where you are.” The man slowly made his way to the cushy chairs in front of the desk and lowered himself into one. Dumbledore chuckled to himself, pushing his papers to the side, resigned to the fact that he was unexpectedly deterred from completing his work.

“Some think that it rather the point to do so. However, a visit from you is never unwelcome. What can I do for you, Alastor?” There was a moment of silence between the two as Moody watched Dumbledore closely, his normally wandering eye not moving an inch.

“You and I both know that this coming year will not be as peaceful as the last.” The ex-auror began. Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, knowing where the conversation was heading. To say the last few years since Voldemort’s resurrection had been peaceful was a bit off the mark in Albus’ mind. A Triwizard Tournament and the fiasco at the Ministry were more like happy little potion lab explosions right in the headmaster’s face.

“The Dark Lord will not wait in the shadows any longer now that his return has been made public. The Wizarding world is already in a panic. All it will take is one raid from his Death Eaters to make the populace fall apart. The Ministry is useless to us as they are in the process of appointing Scrimgeour. Not that they usually are any help but now they are vulnerable to anything Voldemort might pull.”

“I am aware, Alastor. We spoke of this at the last Order meeting.” Dumbledore responded calmly, trying to placate his cautious friend's worries.

“What are we doing about it, Albus?” Alastor leaned forward in his sleep, glaring at the headmaster.

“We have been making preparations-“ Dumbledore began before he was cut off.

“Preparations to defend against a Death Eater raid, but I have heard nothing of what we are doing to prevent these attacks or preserve the sanctity of the Ministry. The Order is nothing but a damage control squad now, Albus!” Moody shot up from his chair, Albus’ head shot up to track his movements. “We can do nothing but wait for them to make a move! At this rate what can we even do? Our numbers aren’t’ even half what they once were. Before they were winning, Albus. They were wiping us out. If we sit on the sidelines much longer, they will be as strong as they were before, and we won’t even stand a chance.”

Dumbledore opened his mouth to retort, but it seemed the other man wouldn’t give him a moment for air in his tirade.

“You told me this would all be over by now. We had plans and we saw them through. It worked for a while but that all fell to pieces.”

“Peace, Alastor, we will take care of this. Just like we did in the past. We have a larger advantage in this war than it seems.”

“You said that before. Why should I trust you now? We don’t have that leverage anymore!” Moody said, but something about the way he spoke lead Dumbledore to believe that the man was baiting him into admitting something.

“Our time to strike back will be soon. We must wait. The prophecy painted a clear picture all those years ago. Our victory is assured. All we must do is protect harry until he is ready.” The ex-Auror narrowed his eyes at the headmaster, unwilling to take his words at face value.

“That boy would be helpless against Voldemort. Have you forgotten their last encounter so soon? The boy and his friends barely made it out of the Ministry that night.” Dumbledore did not respond. He merely leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “You aren’t even training the boy. Let me teach him. Potter at least needs to be able to defend himself. He can’t rely on his blind luck forever.”

For a moment, the two were silent. A battle of wills taking place as the two stared the other down. Fawkes had awoken from his sleep and was using his beak to preen his feathers. The peaceful morning air was steadily growing tense as the silence grew. They both knew what Dumbledore’s answer would be. This wasn’t the first time Moody had asked to train the Boy-Who-Lived.

“He is still young, Alastor. He needs his time to be a child.”

Moody at once launched from his chair. His hair flew from his face and stuck up at odd angles as he shifted from foot to foot. He glared down at the other man before stabbing his finger on the surface of the desk between them.

“We are at war, Albus. And that _boy_ hasn’t had a real childhood since the moment that prophecy was uttered from Sybil’s mouth. We cannot afford to piss away our lead for bloody sentiment.” Alastor suddenly stepped back and made his way to the doors of the office. “That boy needs to be trained, and until you let him be, any advantages you imagine will be squandered.”

The door slammed behind him as Moody made his way back down the spiral staircase. Dumbledore let his hands fall as he turned to look out the window, a small smile creeping upon his face.

* * *

Harry sat surrounded by open textbooks and crumpled notes from his previous years at school. Parchment and words he once thought would never see the light of day again when they had been stored away. However, now he had reason to pull them out again.

The ritual, at first, had barely seemed to create any change whatsoever - let aside his appearance. Harry didn’t feel different, he didn’t have a sudden epiphany of thought. He didn’t feel as if he unlocked anything as he made his way back to the Dursley’s. In fact, Harry very much doubted that anything had changed at all and was beginning to wonder if the ritual had even been necessary or if the goblins were greedy for his gold and recommended it to him like when the salespeople Aunt Petunia talked to offered an extended warranty.

But then Harry notices something strange as he was once more walking down the alley on his way to the Leakey Cauldron. As he passed the shops he once remembered scouring the floors for any information he could find on his predicament, his brain brought forth information he had never recalled knowing before. Passing a pet shop he saw a group of puffskeins in the window. Pausing for a moment, he let himself watch the strangely popular creatures as they rolled around and on top of another.

Then, as he watched them, he took note of their soft fur and his mind supplied the following: _Puffskein fur can be used as a potion ingredient. In fact, Snape has us use it in our third year for a version of Laughing Potion that was popularized by Zygmunt Budge._

Blinking, Harry took a startled step backward. The memory came from nowhere. He honestly couldn’t even remember ever making a Laughing Potion in third year. Potions was usually lost on him and, as he did not have a vested interest in the topic, as well as the professor's obvious disdain for him, Harry thought his less than stellar performance was well within his rights.

So where did his sudden spark of intelligence come from?

It hit him then. The ritual must have done something more than was explained to him. He briefly considered looking over the notes that Droop had given him but quickly decided that they wouldn’t do him much good as he wouldn’t be able to understand the runes. Harry resigned himself to looking into it more when he had access to a larger source of information. Hogwarts library would do just fine for that.

As he continued on down the alley, the phenomenon happened twice more before Harry decided to duck his head and divert his attention from the objects and people around him that triggered previously untapped knowledge within his memories.

Now he sat in his bedroom scouring his textbooks for any hint of the charm Droop spoke of before he departed with the man. Because he had larger problems than randomly remembering a potions class from three years prior.

He no longer looked like Harry Potter.

Instead, he looked like Harrison Riddle-Prince, though no one else knew that.

But Harry was not hopeful enough to assume that his new appearance wouldn’t bring up a problem when he went back to school. Let alone when his relatives returned from their holiday.

Droop had spoken of two different ways that wizards normally used to alter their appearance. Polyjuice potion would be the most solid option that Harry could consider, however, it worked off using hair from the person the user wanted to imitate. Considering that Harry wanted to imitate an appearance that no longer existed, he doubted that the potion would work if he used his own hair. Along with the fact that he wouldn’t be able to easily be able to create and ingest the doses without raising suspicious questions.

So that just left glamors. From what he gathered from his parting conversation with Droop, glamors were able to create a false appearance. One that didn’t have to be a preexisting identity. For example, if a witch or wizard wanted to change a small detail in their appearance, such as their hair or their wardrobe, they could use the glamor. They would only have to use their imagination to change these things with the charm.

However, that was also its downfall. Without a steady attention span, the glamor could shift and blur as the castor lost their focus on what the glamor was supposed to be showing. It was based purely on concentration and imagination.

Finally, one could typically cast the charm with their wand, and it would ease the amount of focus the castor would need to use. However, with Harry being underage, he would be unable to use his. When he brought up this fact to Droop, the man gave him a conspiratorial smile and whispered a secret in his ear.

_“Mr. Potter, did you know that the Ministry monitors underage magic through the student's wand?”_

At first, Harry couldn’t understand why the man had shared the information with him, but now he realized the man was exposing a large loophole in the Ministry’s Underage Magic Monitor. If he could manage to cast without his wand, then the Ministry would be unable to detect it.

However, non-verbal casting alone was difficult for Harry. He couldn’t imagine the struggle he would have with wandless casting.

And so, because of this, Harry was pulling apart all of the charms textbook he had looking for any tips or mentions of wandless casting and how to achieve it. There was no pressure on him or anything to get this right. He could always just send a letter to the Order.

_‘Oh, so you know how you told me not to leave the house under any circumstance? My safety and the future of the wizarding world relies on it? Yes, so I went to Diagon without anyone with me and then found out that I’m actually not technically a Potter. Also, I got this really evasive ritual done where it changed a few things around, my face being one of them. Do you know how to fix this?_

_Sincerely the Idiot-Who-Lived’_

Harry snorted. Yes, that would go over splendidly.

Harry wondered what else was bound to change now that he had taken all the curses off his person. Maybe his marks in school would improve now that he was remembering these strange facts. Perhaps he would be able to improve in his studying, though Harry still felt that most of his poor grades steamed from his constant danger at Hogwarts and his uncanny ability to be pulled into something that should be none of his business.

It was then, surrounded by books that had been vandalized with notes and folded ears, that Harry heard a persistent tapping on his window. Turning to look, he saw Ron’s owl Pig bumping his head against the glass to get in. Harry huffed out a laugh and moved over to the window, throwing it open for the small owl.

The small owl dropped the letter on his desk haphazardly before lapping around his room and nudging his way into Hedwig’s cage, much to her displeasure. Harry smiled at the bird's antics before making his way to the desk and unfolding the letter. Ron’s scratchy handwriting was instantly recognizable and he found himself quickly picking up on his friend's excitement as he wrote his letter.

Ron spoke of the usual things he had in the past. Having to degonme the garden, his latest quidditch match against Ginny and how she must have cheated when she got seven goals in a row. The twin's new shop was opening soon and the Weasley’s were inviting him to come with them to see it on opening day. But then Harry spotted what Ron was really excited to tell him about.

_‘Dad got a promotion! He is now the Head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. Sounds stuffy I know but he has people working under him and everything. We guess after the Ministry finally acknowledged the return of You-Know-Who they wanted to look like they were doing something._

_Dad gets to go around to prominent Dark families and search them for dark artifacts. If he finds anything he can have the whole family placed on house arrest! Dad already went to the Malfoy’s, Avery’s, and even the Goyle’s. He hadn’t found anything, but I’d bet they were fuming as dad got the better of them.’_

At this, Harry found himself frowning. While it was good that they were able to get the drop on the Death Eaters like this, he was concerned about the amount of power the Ministry was exercising by doing this. To be able to search someone’s home without probable cause or any real reason- it didn’t sit right with him.

_‘But you see, it doesn’t matter if dad found anything at the Malfoy’s. His trial is on August fourth.’_

Harry found himself oddly surprised by this fact. He had assumed that Lucius Malfoy’s trial was already done with and was in Azkaban already. Though, if he thought about it, the Ministry didn’t seem to have a great track record with trials and the like. He did wonder why they were taking so long to put his trial through if they wanted to look like they were doing something. But then he continued to read.

_‘It’s perfect! The Ministry waited until the Slewyn family was gone on their vacation before setting the trial date. They have a large number of seats so they would easily be able to sway the vote. They did it in the past during the first war and it would be assured they would do the same now to get Malfoy out of trouble. But with them gone, the votes will mostly be tied up. That’s where dad will come in and give his vote from the Oder of Merlin he got and there you have it! Malfoy is carted off to Azkaban.’_

Once again, Harry felt conflicted as he read Ron’s words. The Ministry seemed to be resorting to underhand tactics to get their way. And while he knew that the Death Eaters would be doing the same, he felt that it wasn’t right. There was something to be said about a system that needed to cheat to obtain justice. It meant that that system was broken.

And now he was just thinking about Lucius Malfoy, who had been set up for Azkaban from the moment he was arrested. Not that he thought the man didn’t deserve it, he most certainly needed to pay for his crimes during the first war, let alone the whole business at the Ministry. However, every man or woman deserved a fair and unbiased trial, no matter the crime.

Though, he supposed that an unbiased mind had no place in a war.

For now, he wasn’t going to think about it. Instead, he turned his attention back to his book. He needed to focus on hiding his face and thinking about the fate of Lucius Malfoy was not going to help him do that. With that thought, he continued reading his battered textbooks.

‘ _Up until the early 1500s, the Incan civilization was a hidden and powerful magical civilization. They specialized in ancient magic centered around alchemy and architecture. They were a group highly devoted to magic, deeming it a gift from their gods, Viracocha and Apu Illapu. In the 1530s, Incans were discovered by Spanish muggles. This event quickly triggered the slaughter of the Incan’s up until the early 1570s where the last of them fled their villages and hid themselves with ancient runes they normally used for hiding crops from wild animals. Today the Incans are still alive, though they only allow a select few magic users, blessed by Viracocha, to enter their hidden lands._ ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I am so sorry about the long delay. I had the hardest time with this chapter that I could not for the life of me explain. Anyways, we finally have our first look at Dumbledore in this story. Let me know what you guys think he's up to. What could possibly be going on in that head of his? We also get a look at some of the changes Harry is noticing and a very interesting letter from Ron. We've always known the Ministry is rotten, but maybe now Harry is starting to see the flaws of the Wizarding world. Let me know what you guys think and I will try to get the next chapter to you sometime soon! Thank You for reading my lovelies!


	9. Motivations and Desperation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “There can be powerful magic in acts of desperation.”

Severus slowly opened the door to the Malfoy’s study. Peeking his head around the door, he saw Lucius sitting at his secretaire slumped back in his plush wingback chair. Around him, papers and empty tumblers were sprawled around. An ink bottle was tipped over on the surface of the desktop and a set of quills were drenched in the murky liquid. His cane rested on the side of the desk. Severus knew that the man had stored his wand in the cane, making for an impractical spectacle. Though they both knew that the two of them had more than a few odd quirks between them.

The Malfoy head hadn’t even attempted to pull together his dour appearance as Severus entered. Instead, Lucius merely glanced up from where he was staring at the mess in front of him before inclining his head in a silent greeting.

The potions master quietly shut the door behind him and made his way to the visitor chairs to the side of the desk. He crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair, not looking at the blonde. Instead, he diverted his attention to the flames licking the walls of the fireplace. It was soothing in a way, the crack of the fire and the heat radiating from it. For a moment, Severus recalled days in the past where he had sat in this very room reading potions journals with a swollen belly as his friend grumbled about his office not being a common room for the broody and pregnant. An oddly humorous sentiment as his wife had also enjoyed spending hours on end with them while she was carrying Draco. The man hadn’t complained when _she_ spent her days in his office.

A faint smile flickered on his lips before they settled back to their usual flat line. Those were memories from another time. A life that seemed so opposite to the one that they were living now. Back then they were hopeful and young. So eager to create change, to build a new world for their sprouting families.

Now, however, Severus’ family was torn apart just after it had begun. And now, so was Lucius’.

“Oh, come now, Severus. Don’t be so down. You look worse than the first time our Lord took you a flight without a broom.” Lucius said, smirking at the other man. Severus shot the blonde a glare as he remembered the embarrassing experience.

“If I recall, you swore never to mention that incident again.” The potions master growled under his breath and looked back toward the fire. Lucius merely barked out a laugh and shook his head, his gaze landing on the ceiling.

“I remember no such thing.” The smile still hadn’t faded from his face as he spoke, but soon his eyes became harder and he continued. “I’ve been remembering a lot of things lately.” Severus looked back at the blonde, abandoning the fire and devoting his full attention to the other. “Draco is sixteen now. It’s hard to believe. I feel like it wasn’t long ago that he was calling after me for all of his problems.”

“I believe that was yesterday, Lucius. Or do you not recall him snarking at Zambini that his _father was going to hear about this_?” Severus couldn’t help but prod. It had the desired effect as Lucius let out an uncharacteristic snort and threw a mock glare at his friend. Both of them chuckled for a few more moments before lapsing back into silence.

“You could see him turn seventeen, too,” Severus spoke softly, already knowing the man’s answer before he spoke. “We could hide you. You don’t have to go to trial. The war is starting once more. Everyone knows it.” But Lucius was already shaking his head.

“And live like Bellatrix and the rest of them? Cast my family into the same shame that the rest of them had done to theirs? Draco would have no future. It will already be hard enough for him now.” Lucius looked back down to the mess on his desk. “I’m afraid I haven’t given him any advantages at this point. The Malfoy name means little more than a Weasley’s now. Once I get thrown into Azkaban-“ He stopped shaking his head and drawing in a breath.

“Let’s change the topic. I’ve had enough of sitting around and moping. I’ve played my hand and now I’m waiting for the House. I’d rather speak of lighter things than this.” For a moment, Severus saw past the man’s words. He knew exactly what his friend was feeling, but he was kind enough to ignore that and heed the man’s request.

Suddenly, Severus remembered that he had yet to tell his friend of Marvalo and his discovery of Harrison. He opened his mouth to tell his friend but stopped himself before he made a sound.

Would it be cruel of him to tell his friend of the discovery when Lucius was about to be separated from his family for an indefinite amount of time? Could he revel in his good fortune while his friend was about to lose his own son and wife? Would it be fair of him?

Just as soon as his mouth popped open, it slammed shut again.

He couldn’t do that. Lucius, while acting nonchalant and accepting of his fate. Was being torn apart inside. Severus knew that the man wanted nothing more than to run from the trial. To stay with his family and go into hiding with the Dark Lord. But that also meant turning his family into criminals and ruining their future along with it. Draco would never be able to get a respectable position in the Ministry if his name was slandered. Not even the Malfoy money could buy him a spot on a committee after that.

No, his friend's time with his family was coming to an end. He would not add the discovery of his Godson to the list of things that he will lose. Severus was not a kind man, but he wasn’t intentionally cruel to those he cared for. With that thought, the room fell into another silence.

“How about a game of chess then?” Severus suggested softly. “Perhaps I might trick you into handing over my victory this time?” He suggested cheekily. Lucius huffed.

“As if you could ever.”

* * *

Harry glared at the mirror in front of him. It seemed to be taunting him as his eyes remained the same and the features of his face stubbornly refused to change. He still remained the spitting image of Harrison Jax Riddle-Prince. He had been attempting the spell for a few days now. He hadn’t had trouble finding the charm after his initial dive into his charm’s books. He had memorized the theory behind the spell and the wand movements. His troubles originated from the need to utilize wandless magic.

Unfortunately, Harry did not have any materials on wandless magic. His textbooks hadn’t even hinted at it. His professors had only just started touching on non-verbal magic near the end of fifth year. Wandless magic was in a whole new realm. The most he had managed was to levitate his pillow off his bed by half an inch.

At first, Harry had been skeptical in attempting wandless magic. Who was to say that Droop was tricking him with the information about the technique? He was half convinced after his first failed attempt that the Ministry would come barreling in and snap his wand right then and there. It took him the rest of the day to build up the courage to try again. However, Harry was now over his skepticism. He had passed it up in favor of his absolute irritation at the blasted glamor charm.

In frustration, Harry drew away from the mirror and threw himself back down on the bed with a huff. Harry recalled Hermione ranting about wandless magic once. She had mentioned something about wands being a European invention. If that was the case, what did witches and wizards do before they had a wand? Not to mention other cultures that did not originate from European practices. Harry was not fool enough to believe that people were unable to cast magic at all until the conduit was invented.

So then how did they do it? Harry didn’t have time to fool around with this charm. The Dursley’s had returned days ago, but somehow Harry had convinced his aunt that he had a rare case of wizarding flu. This assured that the Dursley’s would mind their distance and leave him to his own devices throughout the duration of his ‘ _illness’_. However, that would not last forever. His aunt would soon catch onto his playacting and grow curious.

Harry didn’t even want to think about what the Dursley’s would do if they discovered his most recent change in appearance. He couldn’t waste his time wallowing in his frustration. With another huff, Harry sat up on the edge of the bed and placed his head in his hands.

There must have been times in the past when Harry had performed wandless magic. It was rare, yes, but not impossible. Harry knew that he could do special things since he was young and he had teleported himself to the roof of his school building or turned the primary teacher's hair blue at St. Grogory’s. With a deep inhale, Harry tried to recall one of the incidents from before he arrived at Hogwarts.

With a smile, the memory of a large Brazilian Boa Constrictor in a zoo surfaced in his mind. For a moment, Harry merely focused on how it felt to speak with the snake. At the time, Harry hardly spoke to anyone other than Mrs Figg and his teachers. None of the other children had dared to go near him with Dudley and his gang haunting him. And the other adults in the neighborhood believed the lies his Aunt and Uncle spread about Harry’s behavior problems.

All of this amounted to Harry being a very lonely child and the conversation with the boa was thrilling to the boy in more ways than one. He remembered feeling awed and elated at the same time. He remembered discussing where the snake was from before Piers yelled for the attention of the Dursley’s. The shock and pain that came from Dudley pushing him down was vivid in his memory. As well as Dudley’s words as he pressed closer to the glass. ‘ _Out of the way, you_.’ Harry remembered being angry in a split second and a vague thought running through his mind.

_Best not to let anything be in the way of a needy Dudley_.

And then the glass vanished.

With a quirk of his head, Harry blinked. Could it be that easy? Could Harry have made the glass disappear just by his sheer willpower? Shouldn’t there be a more complicated process or procedure for such a complex technique? Harry was aware that most magicals used wands, not only because they were common practice but because, as a conduit for their magic, it made it stronger and more effective. In fact, most can’t perform more than even the most basic of spells wandlessly without it costing half their usual potency.

Wandless magic was rare for a reason.

Could it be that it was rare because most wizards and witches lacked the willpower to perform their magic without wands?

With a cautious glance at the door to convince himself that neither his aunt nor the ministry would burst through the door at any moment, he turned to the mirror once more. Before, Harry had been focusing on his irritation at Dudley and his pain when he wished for the glass to disappear. He had wanted to scare Dudley. He had wanted him to get too close and fall into the enclosure with the deadly snake.

And that realization alone was enough of a revelation that Harry decided to store it away to analyze another day.

So, he had to want it. That was easy enough. Harry glared at his reflection and thought about his determination and what he wanted to happen.

_I want my eyes to be green. I want my old face back. I don’t want to look like_ them _._

After a few moments, when still nothing happened, Harry nearly stomped his foot like Dudley had when they were younger. What was wrong? What did he need to do to make this work? Why couldn’t Droop have given him a few pointers on wandless magic before ushering him out of the building?

Harry found himself staring hopelessly back at his new face in despair. What would he do? What would happen when his relatives found him? What would happen when the Order finds out? What would Hermione and Ron do? Would they accept him as the spawn of their most hated professor and Voldemort? Could they still accept him?

Harry could imagine it. He could imagine the horrified looks on the Order’s faces as he told them what he learned. He could see the seasoned members becoming distrustful towards him. Remus and Moody refusing to speak a word of the war efforts with him near. Molly Weasley might still smile at him and be kind, but he could imagine her tucking her children behind her in protection. His invitations to the Burrow would be withdrawn. And his friends, he could see the panic in Hermione’s expression as he spoke that would quickly grow into fear. Ron, he would yell at him. He would be furious and betrayed.

And just like that, Harry would lose the only family he loved.

But would that really be a bad thing? If he knew they would react in such a way to his true identity, would it be such a bad thing if he lost them? Did he want to hold onto them even though he knew they wouldn’t do the same for him if they knew the truth?

After the thoughts had crossed his mind, he immediately recalled the years he had spent with the Weasleys and Hermione. He remembered his first time arriving at the Burrow and met the entire clan with their boisterous environment and loud activities. He remembered how he had been welcomed into the fold with open arms and the sense of home that he only then felt for the first time.

Arthur had insisted that Harry sit next to him at the table and they exchanged their knowledge of muggle inventions. Well, Harry did most of the exchanging while Arthur soaked up each new piece of information with more enthusiasm than Harry had ever encountered before. Molly was always there with a concerned look on her face as she spoke of how small he was and that he needed to eat more as she loaded more food on his plate.

Each of the Weasley children joked with him and let him in on their secrets. Fred and George were always the most welcoming in Harry’s opinion. Ron would always be his best mate, but the twins just seemed to have a judgment-free air about them that made Harry relaxed. And it was then that Harry knew what he was feeling.

For the first time, Harry had felt accepted.

In the mirror, Harry’s expression hardened. He wouldn’t let that fall apart. He would fight tooth and nail for those he loved, even if they wouldn’t do the same for him. He wouldn’t let this stop him. He would learn this spell. He would protect the precious things he had. He would protect his family from the truth.

With the weight of that promise settling on his shoulders, Harry looked back at himself once more.

And he was met with the face of Harry James Potter.

* * *

Halfway down Knockturn Ally, two large pillars and a bowing bay window framed the small shop that was situated on 13B. Established in 1863 and specializing in mysterious and ancient wizarding artifacts, Borgin and Burkes was a staple of the ally. Even those who never set foot down the narrow street themselves knew of it. The ancient Mr. Borgin was notorious for his smooth-talking and absurd pricing.

When the shop had initially opened, it had been co-owned by Mr. Borgin and Mr. Burke. The two made a spectacular team, though the rumor was that they rarely got along if a potential customer wasn’t around. Despite their differences, however, the pair created the infamous shop and built its reputation and aggregation until Burke's retirement. Borgin, refusing to sell, still maintained the shop to date. And this is exactly who Draco Malfoy was greeted by as he stepped through the doors of the shop.

The shop looked much like how it had during his last visit just before his second year. Though the items stored within had altered. A pearlescent necklace rested innocently in the window of the shop, betraying the sign next to it that attested to its cursed nature. Stacks upon stacks of book titles with an array of illicit topics. Jewels and trinkets that all radiated with dark and insidious magic.

None of it was what drew the young man to the shop.

“Young Malfoy,” Borgin began with a rasp. “I see you’ve decided to stop by for a visit. Can I interest you in some of our newest jewels? We have enchanted cufflinks and pocket watches. Or perhaps you’ve come looking for a cane like your fathers?” A wide smile stretched across the man's face while Draco’s eyes narrowed. The man had been a great salesman once. Or at least that is what he heard for the stories. However, the man was instead getting on his nerves.

“I seem to recall a certain item in your possession from my last visit. I wish to enquire whether you might still have it.” Draco stated as politely as he could with his rising irritation. As soon as the words left his mouth, the shopkeeper's eyes lit and he shuffled around the counter.

“Well after a few years, I’m afraid that our selection has changed slightly. I may still have the item in question, though if not, I’m sure I have another object that is similar.” The man tilted his head, his smile showing off a row of his yellowed teeth. Draco refrained from sneering at the man and instead shook his head softly.

“I’m afraid that would not be the case in this instance. I recall you being in possession of a cabinet. You may recall that this cabinet has a nasty habit of misplacing the items stored within. They seem to vanish entirely in fact.” Draco said while tilting his chin up. He saw the spark of recognition in the man’s eyes before Borgin visibly withdrew from the conversation. Suddenly, the excitable shopkeep was pulling away from the young man and refusing to meet the other's gaze.

“I don’t seem to recall an object such as that. Though I do have a crushing cabinet. Anything placed within is crushed to a pulp the moment the door is shut. Perhaps this is the cabinet you recall?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed at the man’s sudden change in behavior. He had recollected that the man was shifty from the few visits to the shop he took with his father. He easily recognized the shift in his mannerism as the man’s reluctance and hesitance to reveal the object. _It only made sense_ , Draco thought as he looked over to the spot he recalled seeing the cabinet in the past, _that cabinet had caused quite the problem for him not too long ago_.

Borgin’s eyes followed Draco’s to where both of them knew the cabinet had sat just a few months prior. Draco slowly looked back towards the man even as the other’s gaze still remained fixated on the vacant spot.

“I think not Mr. Borgin.” The man took a gulp before looking back towards the blonde. “Perhaps it is somewhere in the back,” Draco raised a thin brow “If you would like to escort me?” The words were phrased as a question, however, both knew the thinly veiled threat behind those words. The Malfoy name was a powerful one, if Borgin brought it upon himself, they could easily crush the shop that had maintained its standing for over a century.

Even now, with his father’s name on the line, they still had their wealth, if not their name. With relations to the Black family through his mother and his aunt and alliances with other powerful and influential dark families, they were a force to be dealt with carefully. Borgin obviously knew this as, after a moment of silent deliberation, he gave a short nod and turned to walk behind the counter through the dimly lit corridor.

Draco followed swiftly, his excitement mounting as they drew nearer to the object in question.

In truth, Draco had nearly forgotten about the Vanishing Cabinet that he had discovered as a twelve-year-old. He had been inspecting the object before his father called him back and they left after storing some poisons with Borgin for safekeeping. The memory was so faint that he doubted he would even remember the name of the object if not for Graham Montague.

He was a fellow Slytherin and had been a part of the Quidditch team as a Chaser. He had graduated at the end of fifth year and Draco doubted he would ever see the man again. Montague, while being a Slytherin, lacked the ambition it took to make a name for himself. The only thing Draco could say the man had ambition in was his loud discussions of quidditch teams that reminded him of Ronald Weasley.

However, the fact that drew him back to this rediscovery, was due to Montague being a member of Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad along with Draco. Specifically, he was a member for little more than a day as he had gotten shoved in a random cupboard by the Weasley twins when he attempted to dock points from Gryffindor. He was missing for an entire day before he was found by a first year Ravenclaw lodged in a toilet after attempting to apparate.

Montague would later disclose that he was stuck in some kind of limbo, hearing the noise and ruckus of Hogwarts as well as another undisclosed location. The mystery baffled the entirety of the Slytherin house and, when they went to investigate the cabinet, it had been removed. It was only later, after Draco had taken the long train ride home, that he recalled the vanishing cabinet in Borgin and Burkes and connected the dots. Apparently, the Aurors had the same idea as they came to the shop asking questions about the cabinet before being told that the cabinet had been destroyed by a cursed object charmed to spurt out feindfyre.

Draco had suspected that that was a lie. Borgin was a smart man, he dealt with dark magical items, most would get him thrown in Azkaban if ever discovered. However, that never stopped the man in the past. Draco found it hard to believe that the man would be so willing to get rid of the cabinet, especially if it provided passage into Hogwarts without tripping the wards.

On a gamble, he decided to come to the shop and see if his hunch was correct. He was soon proved to be so as he stepped out of the corridor and into the expansive back room. Tucked to the side, half covered in a woolen tarp, sat the Vanishing Cabinet. With an elated sigh, Draco stepped near and pulled the sheet to the side. Looking far dustier and worn than he remembered.

It was a deep brown, almost black and it stood oddly. Each side coming to a point and the door swinging off to the side created a peculiar optical illusion that Draco found himself appreciating. It looked exactly like the cabinet that Montague described when recalling his mishappen adventure. And Draco suddenly felt a swift certainty that he had found the other half to the set.

“Would this be the item you were referring to, Mr. Malfoy?” Borgin spoke softly lifting his eyes to meet the young blonde’s. With a wide grin, Draco placed his hand on the side of the cabinet, touching it almost reverently.

“Oh yes, Mr. Borgin. This is exactly what I was looking for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next chapter! I'm actually quite proud of this one. I wasn't very sure what was going to go into this chapter, as I have most of the story planned out already. However, I haven't planed out the next few chapters entirely. It seems like I am writing this story backward. Each part of this chapter was unplanned and spur of the moment, but once I had started writing them, I realized how perfectly they fell into place.
> 
> I found myself oddly intrigued by the drastically different ways the Malfoy men are looking at their standing with their name and power. Lucius seems to be more hopeless while it seems that Draco is still a firm believer in the power behind the name. I wasn't anticipating that when I was writing this.
> 
> Let me know what you guys are thinking! I would love to hear your feedback. I will try and get the next chapter out in a timely fashion, however, I find myself stuck in the rut before the action begins. Hopefully, one we are past this point, the story will take off with flying colors! Thank You for reading!


	10. Making Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compares to what lies within us.”

The Dursley’s were never considered to be attentive. They were, in all honesty, lazy and disinterested. Excluding Petunia’s neighborhood gossip, they never paid close attention to much of anything besides Dudley and their pocketbooks. This was especially true when their nephew was considered. One could argue that the Dursley’s acute vigilance disappeared completely when their eyes found Harry.

If asked, not a single member of the family would be able to recall a scarp of information about the raven-haired boy without distracting from the question with a false recount of Harry’s _troubled_ personality. Other than when he was tending the house or when Vernon was in an especially foul mood, Harry was locked away in his room and ignored. They did not care for the boy, and Harry eminently returned the sentiment.

Harry didn’t mind the solitude. It was nice even once he compared the alternative list of chores to be done. It was quite, something that he rarely experienced. However, this seemed not to be the case now. Their once passive aloof attitude towards him was replaced with a distrustful glare and more attention than he was used to receiving. Harry could only assume that the scare with the dementor last year had scared the family and convinced them to be cautious around him. Once the Dursley’s had enough of Harry’s _illness_ , he found himself buried in tasks once more.

In three days, Harry had cleaned the entire house top to bottom, manicured the lawn, and met the hands of his Uncle twice.

By the end of the third day. Harry knew that a problem was brewing. His less than observant relatives were being a lot more - well observant. Whenever Harry emerged from his room, they would throw him confused glances. Once Petunia even halted the boy in his tracks as he took the garbage out to the curb. She squinted at his face for a few moments before shaking her head a muttering for him to move it.

At first, the odd behavior baffled Harry. But then, he realized what was happening and in the next moment, a pit opened in his stomach.

Harry had been examining his glamor in the mirror when he noticed it. You see, a glamor - as explained to Harry in the past and through the multiple notes he had made on the subject – is ultimately an extension of the castor's imagination. Their magic creates something of a film or filter that alters the appearance of a body or object based on what the castor is imagining. Easy enough for Harry to do, he had seen his own face enough times to know what it looks like. Another aspect of the charm, however, is the fact that it also depends on focus and the castor's own attention to detail.

If the castor was not completely focused on their glamor, it could be disrupted or ripple. Only for a moment but it could destroy the entire illusion. Harry did not account for this when he was using his glamors and completing his work. So, for the past three days, his image has been flickering as his attention is drawn to other focus’. Not only that, but Harry noticed something odd about his glamors. Every day, they seemed to look just a little bit different. And once again, the realization came rolling in like a storm.

If glamors were based on imagination, then it was entirely based on what your mind creates or retains from memory. And just like everything in life, memory fades. How likely is it that someone could recall what their face looks like without having to look at it occasionally? Other than Lockhart, Harry assumed that most people would only be able to recall the vague basics. Hair color, eye color, where they might have a beauty mark or a dimple. But who could recall how many freckles they had on their face or where they were? Who could state exactly what shade their eye color was or how pale or tan their skin is. Each day, Harry’s appearance varied based upon what he could recall of his face.

Not only were his glamors unstable, but they were also constantly changing.

When Harry came to this conclusion, he had a wild burst of panic. Droop himself said that there were only two different ways to changes one's appearance. Glamors were his only option as Polyjuice would do him no good. If glamors weren’t going to cut it, what on earth was Harry going to do. He was damn lucky the Dursleys hadn’t called him out on this yet. But he was certain that the Order or the students of Hogwarts would notice his shifting appearance.

Glamors weren’t his answer. And now Harry had absolutely no idea what to do.

How would he even hope to find a solution to his problem when all of wizarding society hadn’t been able to? He was still in school, in fact, he hadn’t even tried that hard in school considering all the life-threatening situations he had been placed in since he came to the Wizarding World.

What would little old Harry be able to create that the brightest witches and wizards of their world had not?

Despondently, Harry had flopped back into his desk chair when he came to that conclusion. Was there really nothing he could do? After all that, would he really just be unable to do anything?

Harry stared at the floorboards between his feet as he thought. Nothing crossed his mind as he sat there. He didn’t even know what to think after that. Where could he even begin? There was so much behind spell crafting. So many intricacies that he knew nothing about. So many dangers. As he could recall, the late Mrs. Lovegood met her untimely demise while spell crafting. What kinds of things could Harry do to himself while trying to create a solution to his problem?

Was it worth the risk of possibly injuring or killing himself to disguise his identity?

In a moment, the thought crossed Harry’s mind and then promptly turned itself around and stomped right out the door. No. He already established what he was and was not willing to lose. And the things that he would lose if his true identity were revealed were far more than he was willing to sacrifice.

With determination, Harry walked over and knelt down to the loose floorboard where he had hidden all the books he had gotten during his trip to Diagon and his search for wandless magic. He would research some more. He knew he ran across some things that could be helpful in his previous searches.

When he thought about it. James Potter, while still being his adopted father, was still his adopted father by blood. The man had made the Marauder’s map with his three friends when he was still in Hogwarts. Harry had never seen anything like it and neither har Ron nor Hermione. And even if none of that spilled over. Harry had to grudgingly admit that snape was an ingenious potions master, the youngest in the history of Britten in fact. And if that weren’t enough, he was also the son of the Dark Lord. No one could contest that the man was lacking in any magical ability. He was feared for good reason. Voldemort’s magical prowess was something to be respected.

If Harry couldn’t manage to scrape something up with all that talent backing him… then he supposed, he deserved what would come to him eventually.

* * *

Malfoy Manor had become a hub of activity after Voldemort’s return. When it was announced publicly and the Ministry finally acknowledged the return of the Dark Lord, the war that had aged for over a decade was reestablished once more. Now, there was a whirlwind of Death Eaters in and out of the home on a constant rotation.

Draco’s father - while on probation with the Ministry until his trial - was not allowed to leave the premises. This didn’t prohibit Lucius from helping with the Dark Lord’s plans. Because of both of these facts, Draco was immensely proud of himself when he was able to successfully sneak the vanishing cabinet from Borgin and Burkes into the Manor. Initially, Draco had little hope of being able to transport it to the manor without his parents or godfather’s knowing. But something had happened recently, Draco had no idea what it was. Not even his father knew, but there was something different with his godfather and the Dark Lord. They constantly were developing new war strategies and meeting with their spies in the ministry and other branches of the Wizarding world, however, they seemed even more secluded recently.

Now, they hardly looked up from the research they were conducting. They were meeting with more and more people that Draco had no hope of recognizing and the two grew more agitated as the days passed on. It was a recipe for disaster, but it served Draco well now. He was sure their distraction was the only reason the cabinets appearance went unnoticed.

And now here he was. Standing in a lone room in his family home with a stack of books that was given to him by the shopkeeper and a broken cabinet. There were many unused rooms in the manor. Once that used to have a purpose but no longer has one. These empty rooms were mainly kept to the back of the wings. Hidden so deep into the manor that it was rare to see a soul there. Perfect for Draco’s disposal.

Well… what to do now.

In his mind, this was easy. All he needed to do was get the cabinet home and fix it. Then he would have instant and easy transportation back and forth between Hogwarts and his home. In his mind, he would be able to tell his father about his plan when the cabinets were fixed. However, he had no idea if the cabinet in Hogwarts was in perfect shape and it was just this cabinet that needed fixing, or if both were bent out of shape.

So, for now, he would contemplate when he would inform his father about his plan. In the meantime, he figured that fixing the cabinet would be a good use of his time. However, now that he was able to work on the bloody thing, he had no idea where to start.

The vanishing cabinets worked very similarly to the floo network. Except for the fact that there were only two points you could travel back and forth between. There was no floo powder or dizzying pull at the naval. One simply shut the door and opened it once more and they would be where the other cabinet resided.

Now, however, from the recounting of Graham Montague, it seemed that the cabinet could not distinguish from where an object came from or where it was going. Montague floated in limbo for hours before he managed to get out. Draco figured that the cabinets simply weren’t able to find each other. But what linked them together. What told the cabinet that the object needed to be sent to the opposite location. Draco knew nothing about this from just his schooling alone.

Luckily, he had _convinced_ Borgin to give him the few tomes the man possessed on the cabinets. Perhaps they will have some insight on what the problem with the cabinets is. It seemed like a good a place as any to start and would probably aid him whenever he examined the charms and runes on the magical artifact.

Draco sighed as he looked at the stack of books that he no doubts he will have demolished by the end of the week. The idea of getting the cabinets up and running again was exciting to him. He wanted to be able to have this mode of transportation, not only for himself but for his father as well.

Draco was not a fool, he knew that the Ministry was not ecstatic with his father at the moment and that they would try their best to get his father in Azkaban for what he had done. He could see that now that the war was kicking into gear once more and Death Eaters were becoming a prominent factor in his everyday lifestyle. The Ministry didn’t like it, and the crimes that his father committed were just that, but they were necessary for the cause.

Just in case, if things turned out to be so bleak, Draco hoped that his father might be able to use this cabinet as his father’s escape route.

It would be ingenious. The other cabinet was at Hogwarts which was under Dumbledore’s domain. One of the best things about the cabinets was that the travel between places was completely undetected and wards could not stop it. If his father used it to sneak into Hogwarts, Draco could hide him in the castle. It would be perfect as no one would know that he was gone. The Ministry would not be alerted to his travel and couldn’t trace him anywhere.

What’s more is that, after the disastrous year with Umbridge, the Ministry was hard-pressed to place their hands on anything Hogwarts after the backlash they received. As well as the fact that Dumbledore would fight tooth and nail to keep a repeat situation from happening again. Ironic if one thought about it. Dumbledore, while protecting his school would also be unwittingly protecting one of the Dark Lord’s most prominent followers.

The hardest part would be where he keeps his father while he was hidden at Hogwarts. Draco’s first thought was of the strange room that Potter and his merry band had utilized for their defense club last year. Though he knew little of how that room worked or what its limitations were. So, until he knew, he considered the room to be a risk.

Of course, his father didn’t need to stay there all the time. He could just come whenever he felt the Ministry was going to drop in at the manor hoping to find him. He could only use the cabinets in emergencies.

Whatever the plan may be, his father could figure it out with him later. Now, his priority was to fix the cabinets so that his plans could be a reality. With that, Draco heaved the stack of books into his arms once more and started towards his rooms. Might as well do his studying in a more comfortable room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for such a short chapter, I promise the next will be longer. Let me know what you guys think. Thank you for reading and waiting for updates! We are almost to the part of the story that I am super excited for! I have been so excited about this that the chapters for it have already been written out. Thank you again!


	11. An Early Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Take courage, my heart: you have been through worse than this. Be strong, saith my heart; I am a soldier; I have seen worse sights than this.”

It had crept up on him slowly. Harry hadn't even given the date a second thought. He had been so immersed in life with the Dursley’s and his research for a better disguise. Then it was suddenly July 11th.

Technically it was his 16th birthday. It was such an odd thought to acknowledge. Normally Harry would wait up until midnight. The exact moment it turned July 31st, Harry would wish himself a happy birthday and then stay up the rest of the night from his excitement. Now, however, he realized his real birth date had been passing without notice.

Somehow, the thought made him sad. With how few people cared about his birthday, the idea that Harry himself was overlooking an event he had always regarded highly... Well, it made an already bleak situation seem even worse.

At this point, Harry was unsure if he should continue to celebrate his birthday on the 31st or move his tradition to the 11th. Like all other questions his heritage brought forth, it felt like a betrayal to the Potter’s. Harry found that these thoughts only fed into the endless feelings of guilt that were renewed each time Harry looked in the mirror. He wasn't a Potter no matter how much he wished he was.

Instead, he was the byproduct of the most feared Dark Lord and his misopedic consort. Or one would think he was misopedic from the way he glowered at Hogwarts students. He felt pathetic, moping over this fact obsessively ever since he found out. But bloody hell, both of his biological parents despised him. He was allowed to feel despondent once in a while. One of them held a vendetta against him since he was adopted by the Potters. All because of a damn prophecy.

And that was another thing that made his head spin. If he wasn’t a Potter and he wasn’t born at the very end of July, what did the prophecy mean?

_The one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord approaches_

_Born to those who have decide him thrice_

_And the Dark Lord will mark him his equal, but he will have a power the Dark Lord knows not_

_And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives_

_The one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies_

Trelawney’s raspy voice echoed dully in his head as he recalled the words. It just didn’t make sense. If the prophecy was about him, then how could he be born to those who have defied themselves thrice? And now he knew, he wasn’t born at the end of July. Those were the only two defining qualifications in the entire prophecy. Sure Voldemort had _marked_ him with his scar when he killed the Potters years ago. However, that was the only piece that fit.

Then Harry recalled the words from Dumbledore when they were discussing the prophecy for the first time. Neville Longbottom was another contender for the title of Boy-Who-Lived. In fact, he met all of the needs to be the child of prophecy. Other than the fact that Neville hadn’t ever met Voldemort. Harry didn’t even think that Neville saw the Dark Lord during the fight at the Ministry.

So Voldemort hadn’t ever marked him as his equal. It didn’t even seem like the man was considering the other boy as he seemed singularly focused on ending Harry’s life and Harry’s life alone. But it worked in so many other ways.

Neville’s parents were a part of the Order as well. Many of the missions that the Potters went on, Harry was willing to bet Alice and Frank Longbottom went on them as well. They were as much of a target as the other Order members. This was only proven by the fact that Death Eaters attacked the couple and sent them to the permanent ward of St. Mungos.

Neville was born on the 30th, a day sooner than Harry’s perceived birthday. His parents were members of the order and fought against Voldemort’s forces many times. But that last part, Neville had never been affected directly by Voldemort. His Death Eaters most definitely. But the man himself? Harry doubted that the man even knew who Neville was, let alone the fact that he could be the child the prophecy spoke of. Not when Harry met the requirements so perfectly.

Or the way that Harry _used_ to fit the requirements. 

Could it be anyone else?

Was Neville the one?

How would Harry ever find out?

Something just wasn’t lining up. Not with his true heritage. Not with the prophecy. Not with Neville. Not with anything Harry thought he knew. So who, or what, was lying?

The first step, Harry thought, is figuring out what was true. What did he know for certain?

The first thing that he knew for certain, no matter how much he hated it, was the fact that he was the Dark Lord’s child. Which meant he was not the child in the prophecy.

Neville fulfilled most of the requirements the prophecy spoke of but not all. It could be possible that he would be marked later on. But Harry felt that would not be the case.

The final piece that Harry realized, and feared at the same time, was that the Prophecy could be false entirely. This thought scared Harry. It added another piece to an already perturbing picture. One that showed Dumbledore’s mailing wards, his knowledge of Sirius’ innocence, and his hesitance to clear his name. The man’s blind eye to the Dursley’s treatment and life-threatening run-ins on school grounds. All of the half-truths and misleading conversations and their consequential actions. And there was that nagging question in the back of his mind: _Where did he come from? And How did he get to the Potters?_

The prophecy just didn’t fit. There were too many holes for it to line up with him and a crucial missing part for it to lead to Neville. Harry hadn’t known of any other child of the Order that fit the bill as well as either of them did. And he would be hard-pressed to believe that he was overlooking someone. But that would mean that Dumbledore lied about the prophecy. And if he was lying about something that important… what else was he lying about?

The question scared Harry so much that he shook his head and thought back to the matter at hand. It was the 11th. It was his sixteenth birthday. There was this odd feeling that came about on one’s birthday. The strange expectation that one should feel different as if they could feel older with the passing of another year, but never did.

In all reality, Harry came to a sudden conclusion as he glanced once more at the date on the calendar. He could fret over this for days on end, as he had been doing for everything else that crossed his mind. Or he could just wish himself a happy birthday and accept the fact that his life had changed in yet another way. 

Meanwhile, days had passed and he was still no closer to discovering a new way to disguise his appearance. He was beginning to think that he didn’t have nearly enough books to properly research the subject when a thought popped into his head that made him groan in exasperation. He had been wasting all of this time when he had a walking encyclopedia at the other end of an Owl. 

Of course, he would be discreet about asking Hermione, he hadn’t quite worked out what he was going to tell his friends. And honestly, he didn’t want to have to think about it yet. But that wasn’t going to stop him from asking his friend about his research topic, for purely educational reasons he would assure her. But how to work it into the conversation naturally? He pondered for a moment before digging out the letters Hermione had sent him from that summer.

Oh, thank Merlin for her meticulous dating. He grabbed the most recent letter sent and glanced over the words. Trip to the British Museum, finished her summer homework, asking after Hedwig, Crookshanks had been getting into the cellar, Egyptian alchemist, mistranslated rune work, travel plans for the Burrow.

Wait.

Egyptian alchemist? Runes? Quickly Harry’s eyes jumped back to the aforementioned section.

_Well, I’m a bit peeved. I spent quite some time reading this book about Amon Shadi, an Egyptian wizard. He mostly focused on alchemy but this book depicted his work on runes, specifically image projecting and things like that. Kinda like muggle holograms that they show in those futuristic muggle space tv shows. It was actually what they used to make blueprints for the pyramids. After all, who believes that the pyramids were made without the use of the magic of some sort. In fact, they are placed on magical way lines. Not widely known ones, but they were used to enhance rituals and as a guide for astronomers._

_Anyway, I spent forever reading about how the runes were created and what they did before getting to the end of the book and realizing that the author had mistranslated some of the hieroglyphs used and his entire thesis was incorrect. I’m miffed! Only know do I know that this author, Donne Wills, is renowned for his misinterpretations and laughable thesis’. An entire week wasted analyzing this crock!_

_Now I know better. If you want to know anything about Amon Shadi’s work, get ‘Hologlyphs: The Runes that Built the Pyramids’ by Anne Christie. It’s absolutely brilliant!_

Harry slowly lowered the letter and thought to himself. He felt like laughing aloud. Leave it to Hermione to answer his question before he even thought to ask it. This seemed promising. He would have to do more research of course. But maybe this was the way to find a more reliable disguise.

If these runes were used for blueprints, that means that they wouldn’t change or fluctuate between uses. They couldn’t, or they would be useless as blueprints. Could there be a way to create a permanent template for his glamor off the rune? To keep his appearance from fluxing while keeping his glamorous? There were other problems with using glamorous, of course, but could he find a way around them while using these?

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And the next thing he needed to do was send an order to Flourish and Blotts. He needed to acquire his own copy of ‘ _Hologlyphs: The Runes that Built the Pyramids’_. It came to him highly recommended.

* * *

Severus walked into his and his husband’s bedroom, carefully cradling the items in his hands as he searched the room for Marvalo. He spotted him laying back on the bed, papers spread around him. And a crease on his forehead. Severus stops at the threshold of the room. He felt a familiar swarm of emotions rise in him as he watched the Dark Lord.

When he had first returned, Severus had felt the call to the graveyard just as everyone else had. It took all of his strength not to apparate right there or burst into a helpless ball of taxed and repressed emotions. When he found out that his long-dead husband of thirteen years, was alive again. Severus knew that there was something greater than them pulling the strings behind the curtain. Things like Fate, Destiny, and Karma. How else would he explain the impossible that had happened?

Only after the events of that night had settled and Severus could finally pry himself from Dumbledore to see the Dark Lord, did Severus allow himself to feel the tangent of emotions. The Death Eaters had remained at Riddle Manor. They all swarmed the grounds like locus, a descriptor that Severus knew only came to mind as they were impeding his way in his haste to see if what he felt was true. But then, he made it to the sitting room of the manor. 

The members of the inner circle, the ones that weren't in Azkaban, had parted like a sea and there he sat. Marvalo was thin and his skin was nearly translucent. His entire body was without a single hair, no soft locks that Severus remembered, or even eyebrows. Thin lips and, most startlingly, slits for nostrils. But those eyes. Oh, Merlin those eyes.

They were exactly like the ones he remembered. The ones that had locked gazes with him during his induction as a Death Eater. The eyes that searched for his consultation on important matters. The eyes that had held such interest in the young potions master and eventually gave way to a much stronger emotion. They were the eyes of Tom Marvalo Riddle.

And nothing else mattered.

Since then, Severus would take every opportunity given to just enjoy the fact that his husband was alive. That he could just stand there and watch him work. That he could have this once more. Marvalo had been at odds with himself at the beginning. Partially for his actions that led up to the position they were currently in and partly for his appearance. No matter how many times Severus assured the man that he did not care what he looked like, Marvalo was a prideful man. One of the things he liked most about himself was his appearance and the new form he had taken was far from what he once was. 

Because of this, Marvalo had worked tirelessly to find a way to fix his appearance. Severus, knowing that it was important to the man, help in whatever way he could. When Marvalo had eventually figured out how to reabsorb some of his Horcruxes as a way to retain his looks once more, Severus was reminded once more just how devastating the man was. It had been years since Marvalo had his looks, and he did not look as young as he once did, but it seemed that age has done no harm to his appearance. He had a very faint salt and pepper hairline and his once pale skin held more color. His hair was thick and curly and dark but his matching smirk remained the same as it always had.

Little to say, Marvalo was pleased with the outcome of his appearance. Now the man did not mind when Severus simply watch him. It did not make him squirm self-consciously. In fact, he seemed to sub-consciously gloat whenever Severus stared. While it amused the potions master to no end, he tried hard to let it show as little as possible. Marvalo did not need a larger head than the one he already owned.

So it was quite normal for Severus to just watch and contemplate his joy for his husband’s return as he did then. But Severus had a keen eye. He was able to notice whenever his husband had something that was bothering him. Like now. There was a crease to his forehead and he looked close to growling as he glared at the words before him. On occasion, Marvalo was known to get frustrated with his work. It could often leave him in a bad mood or halt his productivity entirely. He might curse or rant or throw what Severus believed to be a tantrum but there was always a limit to his annoyance.

Another thing that Severus knew for certain, was that Marvalo _never_ took work to bed with him. It didn’t matter what it was, Marvalo flat out refused to let either of them bring work into the bedroom. It started one night when the man had realized the both of them had a stack of notes and plans on their bedside tables and hadn’t spoken a word to the other in three days. The two were too immersed in whatever they were researching. With quite a memorable tantrum, Marvalo had flung the papers out of the bedroom and forbade any parchment, paper, and or tome through the doors at any point or time. And thus, the Dark Lord had gotten his way once more.

What could be so important that Marvalo took it with him in here? Or more importantly, what was bothering him enough that he would even think of it?

“I see you’ve brought work home with you.” Severus finally said as he walked through the doors. Marvalo jumped and a letter went floating down to the ground off the bed. Severus glanced at it as he passed and he recognized it as the letter from the goblins.

Ah, so it was Harrison. That made sense. He did seem to be the exception to the rule. Severus remembered that for days on end, he and Marvalo spent all available hours searching for their child. He was sure they brought that research home with them as well, just as Marvalo was doing.

“Severus, I,” The Dark Lord stopped and looked at the mess around him. “Yes, I did. But I just wanted to,” He stopped when he noticed Severus shaking his head.

“I understand.” Severus sat down on the opposite edge of the bed, angling his body to face Marvalo. “But you have been working on this for a long time now. It’s time to take a break.” As he spoke, he gently set the items he brought on the bedspread. The china of the cups and plate clinked together softly as they were placed. Marvalo frowned. 

“What is all this?” He asked as Severus poured each of them a cup of tea and handed one of the saucers to his husband. He eyed the drink and dessert with a confused expression. Severus calmly poured himself a glass and set the pot on the bedside table. “You know you could have just gotten a house elf to bring all of this. There was no reason to carry it all yourself.” Marvalo went on as he took stock of the food and drink Severus brought.

“It’s the 11th.” Severus spoke softly, ignoring Marvalo’s other comments. He stared into his cup, waiting a thoughtful moment before taking a sip. Marvalo clearly hadn’t been paying attention to the date as the days had passed because his head shot over to give his lover a look. Severus remained undeterred and continued to sip his drink. “I figured we should celebrate his sixteenth birthday. We do know that he is alive after all.”

Marvalo swallowed after a moment and nodded his head. Then he gave a quizzical glance to the dessert that Severus had brought.

“Treacle tart?” He asked. Severus’ lip twitched up.

“I have it on good authority that this is his favorite food of all time.” Or at least the absurd amount of times he had overheard Harrison and the Weasley boy discuss the food item in class was enough to make him believe so. That and the fact that the house elf, Dobby, always seemed to make it a point to place one near Harry at every nightly feast. Marvalo’s eyebrows shot up and he watched Severus for a moment before reaching over and grabbing a slice to place on his plate.

“Well then, Happy Birthday, Harrison.” Marvalo chimed before taking a bite. After a moment, while Severus was grabbing his own slice, he frowned. “Wasn’t treacle tart the one food item that I had to keep away from you while you were carrying him?” Severus groaned as he rolled his eyes and Marvalo chuckled.

“It was awful, Marvalo. Don’t laugh at me! I swear I would get a whiff of it from some random part of the house and I would nearly keel over right there. How on earth could this child enjoy it so much?” The man’s laughter only grew at his husband’s tirade and his shoulders shook from his mirth. Severus only grew exasperated, however. _Well, it was easy for him to laugh_ , he thought bitterly. _He wasn’t the one that nearly threw up on Narssica’s flowerbed after catching the smell of a lemon tart_.

The light mood sobered though as Marvalo contemplated asking his next question. He had been hesitant to ask Severus anything about what had happened after his disappearance. He knew that whatever the man had gone through would have been astonishingly hard as he mourned the loss of his husband and his child within months of each other. He didn’t want to tear up old roots. But now, as they sat here celebrating the birth of their one and only estranged son, he couldn’t help but ask.

“Do you celebrate his birthday every year?” Marvalo asked, resting his cup. Severus didn’t answer at first. Instead, he stared at the blanket beneath them and contemplated his words.

“Not at first,” Severus admitted. “I was grieving both of you for the first few years. That encompassed with doing Dumbledore’s bidding,” He shook his head. “I didn’t want to think about any of it.”

Marvalo watched Severus as his thumb rubbed up and down over the curve of the cup’s handle. A nervous habit that he had noticed years ago. He refused to speak, Marvalo learned long ago that Severus appreciated having the time to think out his words and remain there until he had said his piece.

“It was his eighth birthday I believe. I was feeling ridiculously sentimental and I pulled out some of his things. Nothing other than his blanket and his stuffed animal but it was the first time I let myself come to terms with it. Since then I always spent the 11th thinking about him.” There was a pause. “And you.”

Marvalo sucked in a soft breath. Wondering if he should speak now, but he didn’t know what to say.

“I wished so much that everyone was wrong. That you would come back. But every year, you would stay dead and Harrison would stay missing. And I,” Severus sighed and set his cup down as well. “I was learning to live with that. But last year, when I felt the call. Marvalo, you don’t know what that meant to me.” Severus finally looked Marvalo in the eye. “You’re not allowed to do that to me again. I swear, Marvalo.” There was a determination in Severus’ eye that Marvalo had seen time and time again.

“I know.” That was all he said in response. There was little else that he could say. He couldn’t make promises, wouldn’t. The war was igniting once more and it would be far more destructive than the last. He could only try his best. Severus seemed to understand this and he nodded stiffly.

“And now we know where Harrison is,” Severus said breathlessly. Marvalo could tell those were words that Severus had never thought he would say. He couldn’t help but grin.

“Yes, we most definitely do.”

“And we’ll get him back, won’t we?” Severus asked.

Marvalo glanced at all the papers and scrolls and tomes surrounding him on the bed and the partially eaten treacle tart. He felt his determination renew itself as he was thrust back into his drive.

“Yes, most defiantly.”

_Happy Birthday, out dear Harrison. We are waiting for you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next chapter! Let me know what you guys think down below. I thought that this was something that was really important to put in, not only with Harry acknowledging that something fundamental in his life has changed or that the prophecy is screwy but the fact that Marvalo and Severus need to talk about what happened with each other. You have to imagine what each one of them went through and how hard it would be to talk about. Even if they are married and closest to each other.  
> I'd love to know what you guys think about their dynamic. Let me know!  
> Anyway, I had some trouble with this because I almost lost my entire story. Everything that I had written after the last part had almost gotten lost because I somehow got locked out of the account that I use for writing. Luckily I was able to restore an older copy but I did lose some of the things I wrote in updated copies. But Onward and Upward, Toby! We will survive! I'll try and get the next chapter out to you guys soon. Until then!


	12. Father Figures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “What's worthless to you might not be worthless to me.”

‘ _Hologlyphs: The Runes that Built the Pyramids_ ’ was precisely what Harry hoped it would be. When he finally received the book from Diagon, Harry immediately scoured the book for the runes mentioned in Hermionie’s letter. He found the rune right away. And Harry found that his bibliophile friend was correct; Anne Christie was a fantastic author. Harry didn’t much care about her word choice or the number of references she listed. Instead, he was grateful for the detailed descriptions of how the runes worked as well as the illustrations of the runes themselves.

Egyptian runes were nothing like English runes. Where English runes were based on patterns that channeled magic, Egyptian runes were more like hieroglyphs. In retrospect, it was genius. Why spend so much time figuring out how to use classic runes to create a blueprint, when you could just use hieroglyphs? Hieroglyphs were drawings that created a story… or in this case, the plans for a pyramid. All the caster had to do was create a rune chain that spelled out what they wanted the image to look like and the rune would take care of the rest.

If Harry was able to learn these kinds of runes, which he had already obtained a fairly good grasp of the subject from Christie’s book, then he would be able to apply them to his disguise. Since hieroglyphs were a language, he could just write out what he wanted his appearance to be and use that. Of course, the Egyptian runes by themself would only project the image over him. People would still be able to see his actual appearance behind the runes. But he could work on that later. For the moment, Harry needed to order yet another book from Flourish and Blotts. Hopefully, they had something about hieroglyphs and Harry would be able to use it when creating his rune chain.

One glaring problem he noticed was that he knew for certain that he wouldn’t be able to use glamors with it. The two magics were completely opposite from the other. The glyphs were meant to be used as creation magic while glamors acted more like a filter for magic. If Harry attempted to use them together, they would fight each other and end up using a ridiculous amount of his magic to balance each other out.

It was frustrating, realizing that, in finding a new possible solution, he had eliminated all other known methods of disguising his appearance. However, he remained hopeful that he would find a solution to the missing pieces soon.

And he would need that optimism as he thought of the amount of time he had left. Harry wasn’t sure when members from the Order would show up to take him either to the Burrow or Grimmauld, but he knew it would be soon. It was nearing the end of July, the 29th to be precise. There was only one more month of summer, and from his previous experiences, Harry was rarely left to his own devices for the entire break since the summer before his second year. He didn’t think that he would have much time yet.

At the very least, Harry assumed the Order would be focused on making sure Malfoy’s trial would go according to the Ministry’s plan. That bought him until at least the 4th of August. It gave him nearly a week to come up with something. If worst came to worst, he could still use the glamors, he was just skeptical that they would work as well as they had been with the Dursley’s. He was sure that they would notice the faults in his glamor and it would raise suspicions.

As Harry’s thoughts slowed and he recalled his contingencies. His mind referred back to the trial on the fourth once again as well as Ron’s letter to him. The thought that the Ministry had employed such underhand methods still bothered Harry for some reason that he couldn’t fathom. It couldn’t be from the fact that Harry thought Lucius Malfoy didn’t deserve to go to Azkaban. He knew that wasn’t true. The man still had yet to pay for his crimes in the first war. And when he had given Ginny the diary. And when he tried to get Hagrid fired. And the man had tried to catch him and bring him to Voldemort during the whole Ministry fiasco.

At most, the man only had to pay some hefty fines and got a slap on the wrist. But now that the man was facing down the wrath of Wizengamont, why did Harry have this unsettled feeling?

Unconsciously, Harry fiddled with the rings on his fingers. Droop had given them to him after the ritual. Apparently, Griphook had wanted to wait until his curses were lifted before giving him his rings. One for the Black family and the other for the Potters. They twisted around and around as Harry thought.

Could it- could it be because, now that Harry was aware of his connection to the Malfoy’s, he was hesitant to see anything happen to them? Did the fact that Lucius was technically his Godfather make it hard for him to stomach his fate? Or maybe, could it be something else?

In the next moment, Harry recalled his past interactions with the younger Malfoy. He was arrogant, childish, and haughty. He was a nightmare to deal with and his personality was boarish when compared to the polite Pureblood decorum the blonde was supposed to have. Then again, Harry felt like he alone brought out that side of the Malfoy heir. But the most definite identifier for the young blonde was his trademarked catchphrase.

‘ _Wait until my father hears about this!_ ’

Harry doubted he would be able to count on both hands and feet how many times the Malfoy family had caused trouble for him over his Hogwarts career. Whether it be dueling setups at midnight, interfering with Hagrid’s creature class, the constant competition between the two, or slurs towards his friends. Malfoy was a constant pain in his arse. But his mind was pulled back again.

‘ _My father_ ,’

Draco had a father, one that he looked up to. Granted that it was probably a misguided admiration considering the terrible things Malfoy Sr. had done. But it was still there.

Did Harry feel bad because, if Lucius Malfoy was carted off to Azkaban, it would leave the Malfoy heir without a father? Just as Harry had been without his entire life?

Perhaps a small part of him sympathized with Malfoy. He knew what that felt like. In fact, it was the only feeling he knew. The Dursley’s were never interested in fulfilling a parental role, they had made that clear from the beginning when they locked him in the cupboard. While Harry understood that his home life was nothing like Malfoy’s, he most definitely knew the effects a missing parent can have. Especially a father.

When he had Sirius, it was almost like he had someone he could try and fit into that empty role. Though something in the back of Harry’s mind knew that Sirus was never going to be the best father figure. He thought of James more than Harry when he looked at him. And while it was nice to hear all those stories of his parent's time at Hogwarts. Harry didn’t want to live in the shadow of his father. Especially if he never knew the man.

And something in Harry was unwilling to accept the fact that, in six days, Malfoy would lose his father. Sure, Lucius Malfoy may only go to Azkaban for a few years and later be released, but dementors tormented the souls of their charge. They fed off them and didn’t care that their presence alone held such a profound impact on a wizard's psyche.

Sirius only managed to stay as sane as he was by escaping into his animangus form. Without that, a wizard would become as crazy as Bellatrix within the span of half their sentence. The time spent there would alter the criminal. Not in the reformatory way that muggles have, but in a detrimental, permanent way.

Once Lucius Malfoy’s verdict was given, the house's young heir would lose the father he knew. Forever.

Thoughts of the prideful look in Malfoy’s eyes as he spoke of his father flashed through his mind once more. And Harry felt a sinking feeling as he came to the realization that the thought didn’t sit right with him.

* * *

Draco was slowly deteriorating into a nervous wreck. August fourth loomed on the horizon and he felt the confidence he gathered regarding the outcome of this father’s trial wane as each day passed. Sure he held out hope that the vote would be in his favor, however, his father’s demeanor over the summer holidays seemed to be resigned acceptance of his fate.

Draco couldn't help the sinking feeling that something was going to go wrong. But he shook that off. He had a plan. He already had the cabinet from Borgin working alright. Now he just needed to figure out what was wrong with the one at Hogwarts.

All he needed to do was get to Hogwarts, find the other cabinet, and fix whatever was wrong with it. He just needed to hide his father from the Ministry until the cabinet was fixed. That was all. There was a problem though.

He still had yet to inform his father of his plan. 

Draco was unsure of how to broach the topic with the head of the Malfoy family. He had thought the conversation through a hundred times already. Would it be better to just come out with it? Or should he warm his father up to the idea, hinting at it and making him grow curious? It was nagging at him, chomping at the bit until he finally decided to tackle it like a Gryffindor.

Tactless, he knew, but loath he admit it, he needed some of that bravery right then. And that is how Draco found himself marching towards his father's study. His newfound determination driving past his nerves. He felt like the gleaming Hogwarts express, tearing down the tracks and plowing straight towards its destination.

When he reached the doors of his father's study, he flung them open without even knocking. The doors cracked as one made contact with his father's breakfront and the other the wall. The pureblood etiquette his mother shoved down his throat winced at the action. He would be scolded for that later, he knew. Draco sucked in a breath and was ready to dive into his tirade when he noticed something. The room was entirely empty. Frowning in confusion, he called for an elf. 

Mipsy popped into existence next to him with a meek squeal. Draco didn’t even spare the creature a glance.

“Where is my father?” Draco asked, his impatience showing through. Mipsy trembled and shifted on her tiny feet.

“Mipsy isn’t sure,” Draco growled and the elf quickly continued. “Maybe Master being in the central wing parlor?” The blonde rolled his eyes. Honestly, house elves were so useless. His family ones especially, it seemed.

“Go back to wherever you were. You’re no help to me.” Mipsy cracked away with another whimper and Draco turned on his heel. Perhaps his father could be in the parlor. It was one of his father's favorite rooms after all.

He quickly redirected his course and followed the familiar path to the central parlor. On his way, his determination cooled. Not completely disappearing, merely hardening like metal out of a forge. That was much better than the burning ferocity he had used when barging into his father's study. That behavior would have gotten them little more than a scolding. He needed Gryffindor's bravery, not their brashness.

When he reached the parlor, he caught sight of his father sitting in the wingback chair. His head was craned to look out the window and watch the grounds. The scene was peaceful. Draco took a deep breath and did what every child is guaranteed to do to their parents on many occasions; he broke the peace. 

“You shouldn’t go to the trial on the fourth.” Draco began as he steamrolled into the room. Lucius slowly turned his face from the window to stare at his son with an unimpressed raise of his brow.

“I shouldn’t?” Lucius asked. Draco got the feeling that he meant that sardonically. “And why, pray tell, do you believe that I should not go to my own hearing?” Draco felt his confidence falter as he was pinned under his father's gaze. Those eyes were heavy. Draco had been trapped under his father's assessing eyes more than a few times in his short life. But it never failed to make him falter if only a little.

There was no one he looked up to more or held in higher regard than his father. There was no one he wanted to _impress_ more than his father. Suddenly, his plan felt less impressive and more moronic.

He gulped.

“The Ministry isn’t trying for a fair trial. I’m hopeful that you’ll be cleared. We do, after all, have the Nott and Greengrass seats. And there is still time to inform Lord Selwyn of your trial.” Lucius’ face was an emotionless mask as his son spoke. He was dreading the day that Draco decided to speak to him on the matter of his hearing. It would be hard. He was unwilling to let his son see just how defeated he really was.

They were Malfoy’s. They simply did not lose. There was always a backup plan. There was always a back door. There was always a second queen on the board. Lucius did not know how to explain to his son how all his years of cunning political gaming and Slytherin tactics had come to fail him so miserably in the end.

“However, I’ve come up with an idea.” Draco continued excitedly. Lucius was quickly reminded of when Draco was eleven and he decided to demonstrate to Narcissa and him the things he had learned that year, as if they never knew about the levitation charm or the unlocking spell. “If you didn’t go to the trial we could instead hide you somewhere. I’d rather that then entrusting your trial to the Ministry.” Draco said the last part off-handedly like one might say when speaking about a particularly unfavored flavor of ice cream.

Lucius sucked in a patient breath at his son’s words. He recalled his conversation in his study with Severus just a few days prior as the man tried to convince him of the very same. He came to the crushing realization, that he was going to have to stamp down Draco’s hope right then. He needed to do it before Draco could even try to put his most definitely half-baked plan into action. He knew that he was going to have to do it.

But that didn’t mean that it wasn’t going to break Lucius’ heart as well.

“So, if you were to lay low for a little while, I would be able to work on thi-” Lucius wouldn’t allow him to continue with his false hopes.

“No”

That was all he said. Draco always listened better when direct yes or no answers were involved. He figured Draco would throw a fuss but Lucius would not bend. He would not damage Draco’s prosperous future by agreeing to become a wanted man. He’d rather face his fate fairly. He was not the young man he was when all of this began. He had more to lose this late in the game, and if he was going down, then bloody hell, he refused to take his wife or son with him.

His words had the desired effect as Draco immediately stopped talking and stared at his father with a slightly opened mouth. Lucius could tell that Draco would start up again in a moment if he didn’t say something quickly.

“I will not run away from this, Draco. Becoming a fugitive will do nothing but cause trouble for everyone involved. And I don’t want to live my life like that. I will not be hiding from the Ministry.” After a moment, when Draco didn’t make a move, Lucius considered the matter closed.

Until, suddenly, Draco did speak. Or more accurately, he screamed.

“What gives you the right to make that kind of decision?” Draco, normally a quiet child unless he felt particularly whiney on a given day, never raised his voice towards his parents. Especially never against Lucius. So the tone stunned the man. His eyes widened and his head gravitated back towards the chair as he took in his son's sudden outburst. Draco’s anger seemed to bubble out of him, like a boiling over cauldron full of oozing, sticky substances.

“ _You_ made the decision to lead that mission. Neither Uncle Sev nor the Dark Lord asked you _once_. You _volunteered_. You knew what was at risk if you got caught and _you did it anyway_. And now that it comes down to it you’re just going to walk in there and let them take you away? You can’t do that! You can’t just leave us!” Draco dragged in a breath, but it seemed that he was far from done speaking. His words felt like venom and his body was sized with minute tremors as he fought to control his mounting rage.

“What happened to always having a backup plan? Or did you not think of that so you’ll just leave Mother and I here by ourselves?” There was a pause, Lucius was unsure if Draco wanted him to speak or remain silent. Instead, Lucius' mouth opened and close silently as he tried to think of _something_ to respond with.

“I see,” Draco’s voice was suddenly calm and he seemed to draw back. “You’re so concerned about how you want to live your life, you don’t care about how the rest of us would care to live ours. I sincerely hope the trial goes well then. I’d prefer not to live out the rest of my life with my father in Azkaban.” Draco fled the room as suddenly as he appeared, leaving a shell-shocked Lucius to mull over his son's words.

He was disrespectful. More so than Lucius had ever witnessed himself in his lifetime. However, he couldn’t bring forth any anger towards his son’s actions. He knew that Draco was fearful of what was to happen in the days to come. He knew that Draco was going to be unwilling to accept Lucius' reality until his final verdict was given. He had told himself this many times already. And he had put off speaking with Draco for weeks now. He should have expected this kind of reaction from him.

However, now he was seeing the consequences come to fruition. Draco didn’t care about what prospects he may or may not have in the future. He only wanted to protect his son, by doing so, he wouldn’t be able to run from the Ministry. But Draco didn’t see it that way. In his mind, Lucius was taking the easy way out and abandoning his wife and son.

 _One day he will see_ , Lucius thought to himself solemnly. _He will know the value of my decision_. Though a nagging thought in the back of his mind told him that having a father around, even if he was a fugitive, would have been better than having nothing at all. Then the elder Malfoy turned back to crane his gaze back out the window.

It was such a _beautiful_ day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I hope you enjoyed an early chapter. I didn't know if I would get a chance to put up the chapter this weekend so I thought I would just do it now and give it to you guys early. Let me know what you think! It's a little shorter than the others but I thought that the conversation (if you could call it that) between Draco and Lucius needed to happen. What do you guys think about Harry's start to a solution? Do you think it might work?
> 
> Leave me a comment down below! I try to reply to all of them!


	13. Trouble With the Post

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “It takes so much courage to face your enemy, but even more to be kind to those who hurt you.”

Harry really hated it when Hermione was right. The moment he realizes that her scolding on just how important History of Magic is, he wanted to slam his head on his desk. It hit him just after he found exactly what he needed.

 _I guess the best way to create something new, is just to reuse something old_. Harry thought semi-amusedly as he studied the passages in front of him. It turned out, that Harry had read about this method when he was looking for information on wandless casting.

_‘Up until the early 1500s, the Incan civilization was a hidden and powerful magical civilization. They specialized in ancient magic centered around alchemy and architecture. They were a group highly devoted to magic, deeming it a gift from their gods, Viracocha and Apu Illapu. In the 1530s, Incans were discovered by Spanish muggles. This event quickly triggered the slaughter of the Incan’s up until the early 1570s where the last of them fled their villages and hid themselves with ancient runes they normally used for hiding crops from wild animals. Today the Incans are still alive, though they only allow a select few magic users, blessed by Viracocha, to enter their hidden lands.’_

He didn’t remember the section of his History of Magic text since it wasn’t what he was looking for at the time. Now, however, Harry was kicking himself over the lost time he spent while searching for something he had only read days prior.

 _How do I remember a potion I made with Puffskins years ago but not a rune from a few days ago?_ Harry found himself asking himself. Perhaps he was a kinesthetic learner. Either way, he had found the solution to his problem.

With more digging, Harry learned that these runes, the ones they used to hide their crops, worked to conceal an area within its boundaries. Typically, they would draw the runes at multiple points around their camp to encircle it. Then the rune would hide the village and only show the dense jungle that surrounded them instead. Effectively, making them invisible. They added additional runes that worked as repelling charms as well but the main point was that _they couldn’t be seen_.

Yes, Harry knew that he couldn’t just go unseen for the rest of his life in order to hide his appearance. However, he could use it in tandem with the Hologlyphs. The Incan runes would hide his actual appearance and the glyphs would project the image that he wanted over top.

Harry felt giddy with the notion that he may have found a solution to his problem. The History of Magic book he was using didn’t have all the information he needed, however. So, he needed to place another order to Flourish and Blotts. Harry heaved a sigh as he pulled out another piece of parchment and began drafting another letter to the store. Maybe they would give him frequent buyers discount. He paused and tilted his head for a moment. Did the Wizarding world even have frequent buyer discounts? Another thought for another time perhaps.

After he had written out yet another order to the book shop, Harry sighed and leaned back in his chair. If this was his solution. He still needed to figure out how to incorporate the two runes together. Finding the pieces was exciting, however, he knew that the toughest part had yet to come.

He glanced at his calendar.

August fourth.

Who knew when The Order would come for him now. The break was almost over, soon he would be carted off to who knows where and have to use his glamorous if he didn’t create his runes soon. But something nagged at him in the back of his mind. He felt like he was missing something still.

What day was it? He turned to look at the calendar again and the realization slammed into him. August fourth.

It was the day of Lucius Malfoy’s trial.

Harry wondered why he cared about it at all. The trial had been plaguing his mind ever since Ron had sent that letter. He should feel nothing for the Malfoy family. He had never received any kindness from their lot. In fact, he received just the opposite through public humiliation and holier-than-thou sneers. To the Malfoy’s, Harry was nothing more than an uneducated, dirty Half-blood and they were not shy about voicing their opinions.

So why did he find himself caring about the man going to Azkaban? Because he most certainly was going to. Because of the Ministry, the light sided families currently have the majority over the darker families, though it is slight. If the Selwyn family knew of the trial, then the vote would have been heavily weighted in Malfoy’s favor. However, Lucius’ trial date was not public knowledge yet, at least, he hadn’t seen any mention of it anywhere except for when Ron had told him. The Selwyn family was on vacation in Spain for the last weeks of summer, unknowing of Malfoy’s trial date.

How _convenient_ for the Ministry. Ron’s words bother him once more. The Ministry shouldn’t have to use those kinds of methods to obtain justice. It was an abuse of power.

Perhaps Harry cared because the man was all alone, as he was the only one caught at the Ministry. None of his colleges had come to save him from the jaws of the Aurors. But no, Harry felt no pity for the man. Lucius knew what would happen if he got caught, he knew that no one would come to rescue him.

So why? Why would he care?

Bright blonde hair flashed in his mind along with steel gray eyes. Harry found himself looking towards the scroll that hadn’t left his desk since the day he had first gotten it. Could it really be, that he cared because it was something that affected the Malfoy heir? Was Harry concerned because Draco would be losing his father? Or was Harry finding himself conflicted because of the damn inheritance test?

But Draco knew what his father did, he was aware of all the things he got away with, unpunished, from the first war. Draco had to understand that his father being sent to Azkaban was the only justifiable option. The Malfoy’s hands were far from clean and they deserved to pay for the crimes they had committed. Harry knew this and yet….

Again, the images flashed through his mind. _Wait until my father hears about this!_ Harry had heard that sentence enough times in his life to drive him mad, but he had heard it in more than just fury and indignation from the blonde boy. He had heard the boy say it with pride, with excitement, with adoration. Malfoy looked up to his father. He respected the man.

Malfoy loved his father.

Harry let out a frustrated cry as he pulled at the hair on the nape of his neck.

He shouldn’t be thinking about this. There was nothing he could do anyway, even if he decided that he should.

The rough scratch of his house rings rubbed at his neck as he pulled at his hair. And suddenly an idea hit him. He pulled his hand in front of him and looked at each of the house rings on his fingers.

Maybe there was something that he could do.

But should he dare?

Malfoy fully deserved to go to Azkaban for what he had done in both the Ministry and the First Wizarding War. He had devastated lives, broken apart families, torn down the peaceful everyday living of the Wizarding World. How many more would be hurt if he were left unchecked? What would the price of Lucius Malfoy’s freedom be?

Could Harry live with himself if his decision ended in the loss of a life?

Again, Harry saw the Malfoy heir in his mind’s eye. It was beyond frustrating. The boy hadn’t _ever_ been kind to him. He had ridiculed and bullied him from the moment Harry had refused his friendship on the train. He saw no reason why the blonde would stop now. Just because Harry had stumbled upon his true heritage? Laughable. For the Malfoy heir, nothing had changed.

And nothing would change.

But would he have the strength to sit by and watch as Draco was torn away from his father?

For some reason, that was a sad thought in Harry’s mind. He didn’t want to dwell on why that was. Instead, Harry glanced down at the rings on his fingers again and made his decision. In the end, Harry always knew that he had a thing for saving people.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy had had enough. He had been sitting in front of Wizengamont for hours as they debated back and forth on his case. He was about ready to shout at them to shut up and get on with it. They all knew how this trial was going to end. He had to acknowledge the efforts of his colleges to try and pull him out of the clutches of Azkaban. However, they simply didn’t have enough sway to make the final push over the edge. The voting was tied at the moment, but that would change at any moment once the Weasley clan realized that the trial had been pushed forward two hours in an attempt to make Lucius late.

Unluckily for the Ministry, the Malfoy’s suspected they might do something like that, and had arrived especially early as to not be caught off guard. And also, unluckily, their sudden time difference just added two extra hours onto his trial and it all was filled with mindless bickering and half-baked justifications for his actions.

Lucius had yet to say a word and, to be frank, he didn’t know what he could say to appease the court. He could claim that he was under the imperious curse like the last time but that would seem unlikely. As well as the additional disadvantage of making the Malfoy family look magically weak and unable to resist the power of an imperious.

The Head of the Malfoy family took his attention away from the jury and looked towards the crowd where his wife and son sat together. Narcissa looked as beautiful as ever, with her flawless porcelain skin and immaculate hairstyle. She looked perfectly composed as her husband’s trial spiraled right before her very eyes.

Draco on the other hand looked like a nervous wreck. Oh, he tried, Lucius could tell that much. His son was dressed to a tee and his back was ramrod straight as he watched the trial. But every so often, Lucius would see his son’s hand rake through his hair and his hands wring themselves in his lap. The man couldn’t fault him for it either.

Normally, that kind of behavior was frowned upon. Lucius’ father, Abraxas Malfoy, was a strict man. No signs of weakness were ever allowed to be shown. There were to be no faults in one’s appearance or performance. Nothing could ever fall short of impeccable. Lucius was raised with this kind of mindset, and though he used it with his son as well, he was far less rigid than his father.

Draco would have everything he ever wanted as he grew up, Lucius would make sure of it. He would grow to be a proper wizard, but he would be allowed his fun as well. He wanted his son to enjoy life and live it well.

He didn’t want his son to have to watch as his father was sentenced to life in prison. So, Lucius could overlook the less than perfect actions of his son. He was human after all, and Lucius could never fault his son for that.

He wished, however, that he had gathered the courage to speak with Draco once more before his trial. Draco had been fuming the last they saw each other and then he proceeded to avoid Lucius in the manor. Lucius understood, but he would not change his mind. Running from the Ministry would only cause more problems for the Malfoy family in the end.

The Malfoy’s Head of House was ripped from his thoughts as the doors to the room slammed open. Everyone’s head whipped around to the noise and they watched as the final expected member of Wizengamont arrived. A single head of shockingly bright red hair made its way in and up into the seats as the crowd watched on.

Lucius found it sort of ironic. That the Malfoy and Weasley feud would come to a head like this. Normally, the red-head clan stayed out of these kinds of trials. As they only had one seat, being unable to pay the house fees of being a member of Wizengamont, they abstained due to their lack of pull. After all, what is one seat when you are easily outvoted by five or ten seats from another house?

Now, however, that single vote would be enough to tip the scales. And Lucius was not deluded enough to hope that it would be in his favor.

“Nice of you to join us, Arthur.” The Head of Marchbanks bit out. Her glasses slipping down her nose as she looked at the red-head. She had been the most irate of all during the trial and as the time stretched on, it only got worse. She was not a woman who appreciated her time being wasted. To the man’s credit, he did seem regretful about his tardiness as he blushed and stammered out his excuse.

“I apologize, but we didn’t get notification about the trial being moved forward until twenty minutes ago.” The Weasley patriarch said as he awkwardly shuffled into his seat.

“Can we get on with the voting now? We’ve been at this long enough now.” Augusta Longbottom barked. A few others nodding in agreement.

“You’re going to let him vote?” There was an incredulous outcry from the other side of the room. It was Nott, he had said a few words here and there, but it was mainly just to keep the argument going and therefore the trial. “The man just gets to walk in and vote without being at all a part of the discussion?”

“All members of Wizengamont have a right to vote, whether they were here for the discussion or not, Nott.” Longbottom bit back. “I’ve grown tired of these arguments. Let’s finish this already.”

“Will you not even let the man speak for himself?” It was Greengrass this time. He had been incredibly defensive of Lucius, much to the man’s surprise. Perhaps the Dark Lord had tasked the man with assuring Lucius to go free, that was the only reason the man could imagine for the normally cool-headed Greengrass patriarch’s eccentric behavior.

“Enough!” There was a bang as Rufus Scrimgeour, the new Minister of Magic, gathered the attention of all gathered. “The voting will commence.”

Lucius’ hand tightened on the chair arms. The only outward sign of his panic. There was no escaping it now. All he had to do was wait for the inevitable. He couldn’t bring himself to look back over at Draco. He knew what he would see.

He would see hope in his foolish son’s eyes. Hope that somehow, something would save Lucius from the trial that he should have gotten all those years ago at the end of the first war. He would see Draco drag in a deep breath and hold it until the verdict was announced and then, he would watch his son be crushed.

“All those who find Lucius Malfoy not guilty.” Nott and Greengrass raised their hands into the air. That was 20 seats, ten for each house.

“All those who find Lucius Malfoy guilty.” Longbottom, Marchbanks, and MacMillan’s hands went into the air. That was 20 as well. 10 for the Longbottom’s and 5 for each other. Slowly every head turned to the latecomer as Weasley’s hand slowly rose into the air as well.

That would make 21.

“Very well, the court has come to their verdict. Lucius Malfoy, for crimes against the Ministry and all she protects, you have been found-“ For the second time during the trial, the door burst open again. Scrimgeour stopped speaking as he squinted to see who had plowed into the room. Lucius gave the figure a curious look as the man bent over heaving in large gulps of breath and wheezing out incomprehensible words. “Who are you and what are you doing? This is an active courtroom. You are not allowed in here without-“

“Urgent missive for the Malfoy case!” The man finally yelled as he caught his breath. This caught everyone’s attention. “Votes for the final verdict!” Quiet gasps rang out through the hall as the man rushed forward and handed a scrap of paper in his hand to the transcriber. Lucius could barely keep his eyes from widening.

Someone had mailed in their vote for his trial.

“The voting period has already ended!” Marchbanks cried out. “No more votes can come in!”

“They aren’t even here to give their vote! They can’t count!” Longbottom followed up with.

“I thought you said that all members of Wizengamount have a right to vote, whether or not they be here for it,” Nott said snidely, the Longbottom Head of House fuming in her seat and getting ready to retort. “The verdict has not been called yet, lets add these votes!”

“Quiet!” Scrimgeour yelled again, then he turned to the transcriber. “If the votes are legitimate, then they should indeed apply as Mrs. Longbottom stated previously.” That earned him a nasty glare. “Are the votes genuine?” He asked as the writer unfolded the note. They took a few moments to read it before their eyes widened and they nodded hastily. “And what are their votes for?”

The man took a shaky breath and addressed the room.

“The sender is writing to inform us they were unable to attend today’s trial due to travel complications. However, their vote is in favor of finding Lucius Malfoy not guilty. They are using their ten seats to cast their vote.” As he spoke the crowd got louder and louder until the end of the note where the room erupted into noise.

People were talking to their neighbor, wondering who it was that sent in their vote by missive. Other’s were shocked to discuss the unexpected turn of events. Some were shouting about how the votes shouldn’t count, but it was too late.

With time and a sonorous charm, the crowd was settled enough for the final verdict to be announced. The Minister and the messenger whispered hurriedly between each other, Scrimgeour looking more and more furious with each word spoken before the other man shook his head firmly. Grudgingly, Scrimgeour pulled back from the man, picked up his mallet, and glared at Lucius. “The court finds Lucius Malfoy not guilty of all crimes set against him. He may leave and all probations will be stripped of him.”

As the mallet hit the tabletop, the chains on the chair fell loosely to the floor and Lucius could only stare in shock as he slowly stood up and was escorted towards the exit, his family following closely behind. Narcissa cleared her throat and addressed the Aurors escorting Lucius.

“My husband has been cleared of his charges, please be kind enough to stop manhandling him like a convicted criminal.” Her voice was like steel as she glared at the men. Seeing the look they had garnered, they quickly pulled back and stood to the side next to the outer doors that surely lead to the massive swarm of reporters that had probably arrived during the start of the trial.

When they had retreated far enough, Lucius found himself enveloped by the arms of his son and his heavy weight had been pressed against his chest. Draco clung to his waist much like he had when he was younger and had sought him out for comfort from his night terrors. Such public displays of affection were not a part of the Malfoy demeanor. They did not smile or laugh where others might see, and they most certainly did not hug.

But Lucius could make an exception for this one time as he wrapped his own arms around Draco and pulled him tighter to his chest. Right now, Lucius needed the comfort of knowing that he wasn’t leaving his family behind. He had both of them here with him now and that was all that he could ask for.

When Draco finally pulled away, he had flushed cheeks and his hands were shaking slightly. He smiled up at Lucius and the man felt himself take a deep breath at the sight of his son’s joy. It was such an opposite reaction to what he had thought he would be seeing at the end of this trial that it took him by the wayside.

“Let’s go home now, Father. That was far too dull. I knew it would all be fine.” Lucius let out a small chuckle at his son’s words. Draco definitely had gotten his fair share of cheek from his parents.

“Never doubted me for a moment, did you?” Lucius asked neither of them mentioned how strained his voice sounded.

“Of course not.”

Narcissa watched the exchange with a fond look in her eyes and she found her place at her husband’s side and took his arm.

“Well, it wouldn’t due to sit here all day. I think Draco was correct, perhaps we could have Mipsy make us some tea and biscuits when we get back.” The Malfoy Matriarch stated as they began their walk towards the doors. Draco walked ahead of them, getting ready to open the door for his parents. “We need to find out where those votes came from Lucius,” Narcissa whispered. Lucius didn’t reply for a moment as the doors opened up to a sea of reporters and the emotions slipped off the Malfoy’s face.

“Yes, we most certainly do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The chapter I was so excited for! I had this part of the story written out before I even posted the third chapter. What do you guys think of Harry's solution? Do you think it might work? How is he going to make that work? Is it even possible to make the two runes work together? Ahh but I know what you guys are actually wondering about. Lucius' trial!  
> Did that go at all as you thought it might? Let me know what you guys thought about the trial.  
> New chapter coming next week! Leave me a comment. I try to reply to everyone!
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING!


	14. Chapter 14: Extra Extra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “An honest enemy is better than a friend who lies.”

Severus was tense. He knew that the Headmaster was planning on moving the boy soon, though he wouldn’t tell the potions master where. Normally, Severus wouldn’t ask. He had never cared in the years before. Before, he had thought of Harry as the spoiled Potter brat, but now that he knew the truth, he began to realize how little he actually knew of his son.

Severus sneered. He had spent five years teaching his son. Harrison had sat before him in plain sight for years and he had no clue. He had treated him horribly and hadn’t cared for him in the least. And now that he was aware, the realization that he knew nothing about the boy’s home life or where he was going, disturbed him more than he cared to admit.

There was a chance that Harry was going to be taken to Grimmauld Place with the rest of the order members, but Severus hoped not. The professor knew about the strong bond his son had with Black. Sirius was the only adult that Harry had ever disclosed to. He was the only grown-up that Harry had trusted fully.

And if that didn’t sting Severus’ pride. The fact that his childhood bully was his son’s closest confidant. What made it worse was that the potions master had all the time in the world to build a healthy relationship with his son. Ever since he was eleven, he had seen Harrison almost every day for most of the year. He interacted with him constantly as his professor, but he had brushed him to the side because he was disguised as the spawn of his adolescence’s worst enemy.

Severus sighed and picked up a tray full of potion ingredients. He moved towards the cupboard to put them away before he heard a shuffling sound across the room. He turned towards the noise and saw the Malfoy Lord walk into the room. Lucius looked calm and collected as he watched Severus. He took a few more steps into the room and closed the door softly behind him.

“You seem lost in your thoughts.” The blonde began lightly, looking over at the finished potions on the table. “You never noticed me walk in.” The potions master didn’t respond.

“So, this is where you’ve hidden away today?” Severus’ face didn’t change though he was confused as to the patriarch’s words. It was a known fact that Severus was constantly in the potions lab, especially the one at the Malfoy’s as that was where his spouse was staying until their own home was renovated.

“Yes,” Severus said simply. Not giving any more information. Lucius gave a non-committal hum before walking over to stare down into the smooth pale green of the potion.

“Nothing else going on today?” The Lord said picking up a ladle and starting to help bottle the potion for storage. Severus had had enough of his cryptic attitude and turned to start putting away the ingredients once more.

“What are you getting at Lucius? Your mind tactics won’t work on me.” Severus said slamming a jar of newt eyes down on the top shelf as he let his irritation show.

“My trial.” Was all Lucius said, his face carefully blank as he stoppered his fifth vial and set it down to the others. Severus, however, was far less graceful. The tray of ingredients rattled as he almost dropped them to the floor in his shock and he whirled around to look at his longtime friend. Lucius gave him an unimpressed glance at his actions and then returned his attention to his task. “Imagine my surprise when I turned to look at the crowd and noticed your absence. I would have thought that you would at least have come to say goodbye.” The Head of the Malfoy house said coolly.

“Lucius, I-“ Severus set down the tray and walked over to the blonde. “I don’t know what to say.”

“An apology might be appropriate. That’s where most would begin.” Severus shook his head in confusion.

“How are you here?” Lucius' head snapped toward the potions master with an incredulous look. Severus didn’t even flinch, he continued in a clipped tone. “Don’t look at me like that. We both know that you walked into that courtroom with no hopes of walking back out. You told me yourself.”

Lucius didn’t respond for a moment, instead giving his full attention to the potion vial in front of him. Severus knew the man well enough to know that he was mulling over his words, choosing each one carefully.

“Someone sent in their vote through the post.” The blonde finally settled on as he set down the vial and filled another. Severus gave the man a disbelieving look, waiting for him to say he was joking. But no such thing came. Instead, the Malfoy Lord met Severus’ eyes with complete seriousness. After a few moments, the professor snorted and shook his head.

“Only you, Lucius” Severus said fondly as he smiled. “Who was it?”

“No one knows. The transcriber didn’t say. He merely confirmed that the votes were legitimate and counted towards the vote. Though he did also mention that the Lord had to send in their vote due to travel complications” Severus frowned.

“The Selwyn Lord?”

“That’s what most are thinking. But this vote only added 10 more seats to the vote. Selwyn has 32, why would they only use 10 if they could assure their vote with all of their seats?” Lucius frowned as well. The thought had been bothering both Narcissa and him ever since the news was announced at the trial.

“What other family holds 10 seats? At least what family holds seats that are able to vote?” Severus asked rhetorically. Lucius shook his head, still glaring at nothing in particular. “I’ll talk to the Dark Lord.” Lucius’ head shot up to look at the potion’s master with wide eyes. “He can send someone to have a chat with the transcriber. After all, it would be a shame if the man who gave you your winning vote never got the chance to meet you or our Lord in person.” Severus said with a devious smirk.

Lucius rolled his eyes, but it was a half-hearted expression, more full of fondness than annoyance.

“I suppose you would be right.” Lucius stoppered his last vial and then watched as Severus took the filled ones and brought them towards the storage cupboard. “What were you thinking of before? You seemed distraught.” The blonde prodded. Severus stiffened, remembering his train of thought before he noticed Lucius in the room.

“It’s nothing important.” The Malfoy Lord’s eyes narrowed as he watched the potions be placed in their rightful spots.

“Something has been the matter with you since the beginning of this summer, Severus. At first, I merely thought it was the stress of the war and the spectacle that was the Ministry fiasco. But not even that would affect you this much.”

“Lucius-“

“You are so distracted by this that you even forgot my trial today! How could I trust you with my son’s safety if you can’t even keep your wits about? Now tell me, what have you been keeping from me!” Lucius’ voice rose. It wasn’t quite a yell, but it was very stern. Severus was at once reminded of his days as a first-year and the intimidating nature of Lucius as a fifth-year prefect.

Back then Lucius was ferocious against any threats to Slytherin. He was the perfect protector for younger students. He fought off bullies with stinging words and never had to cast a single curse to frighten a pest. Severus fondly thought that Lucius protected his own more like a lion than a snake, but far be it from him than to tell Lucius that. Back then, life was easier for Severus, as Lucius made it his mission to keep the Marauders away from Severus and let him be in peace. Of course, that only lasted until his third year, but they were still the best years in Severus’ eyes.

And that was why he knew better than to push Lucius whenever he felt like he needed to defend. So, with a sigh, Severus turned back to the blonde. He took a moment to collect himself and think of the best way to tell Lucius what they had found out. Though he supposed the best way was the most direct.

“Marvalo and I found something out earlier this summer.” Severus began, closing the storage door. “Harrison is alive.” He said softly looking up to Lucius. He could see the man’s face morph into pure surprise and then slowly into wonder.

“What?” He breathed.

“We didn’t know what to think either. But one day we got a letter from Gringotts stating that Harrison had claimed his inheritance and would need permission to be allowed to access our vaults.” As Severus spoke, Lucius lowered himself into a chair next to the table, never taking his eyes off his friend. “We’ve been trying to figure out how to get him back to us, but we have been running into some complications”

Realization lit up in Lucius’ eyes as he caught onto the meaning of his words.

“You know who he is.” It wasn’t a question. Severus nodded slowly after a moment, hesitantly, he didn’t know how his friend would react to his news. “Well?” Lucius urged “Tell me!” Severus grimaced and looked to the floor for a moment.

“It’s Harry Potter.”

Silence.

Severus felt the tension slowly building in the air and tried to explain what he could. However little that may be.

“Marvalo and I don’t have the full story yet, but we think Dumbledore took Harrison and gave him to the Potters for blood adoption. When Harry went to Gringotts to ask for his inheritance test, his status had changed on the family tree we had made all those years ago. Not only did his given name return to the tree but his adoptive name was added on as well.” As he spoke Lucius sat back further and further in his chair until he was nearly slumping over from his shock.

“Dumbledore is still unaware of any changes, but we know that he underwent some kind of ritual because a few days later his adoptive name vanished but his given name remained behind. We are thinking he may have stripped his blood adoption.”

“Have you told Draco?” Lucius asked suddenly, cutting off whatever Severus might have said next and the potions master winced. “Severus, Harrison is his intended. You know how much Draco thinks of him. He needs to know.”

“I know but think of how he acts with Harry. If he found out that Harry was really Harrison, well you can imagine how well that would go down.”

“That doesn’t mean-“

“I know that doesn’t mean we should keep it from him, but do you have any suggestions on how we should tell him?” Severus snapped suddenly. He cared for the Malfoy heir more than most could guess, Lucius knew this. And he also knew how much this must be tearing Severus up to keep it from Draco. After a moment of silence, Lucius sighed.

“We’ll tell him tomorrow. No excuses.” He said as Severus opened his mouth to interject. “We tell him whether or not we have our words figured out. If you won’t, I will.” The blonde finished with a stern look and Severus could only sigh and agree. Lucius smiled and rose from his chair and pulled his longtime friend into a tight hug. Not common for the Malfoy head, he knew, but something must have been in the air that day. Perhaps it was just the high of escaping his trial that had him so affectionate that day.

“I’m happy for you, Severus. I am glad you found Harrison and I will help you in any way I can in order to get him back to you.” Lucius said letting the potion master go. Severus tried to keep the smile off his face but they both knew it was a losing battle.

“Thank you, Lucius.” With a final nod, the blonde stepped back and took a breath.

“Well, Narcissa is pleased with the outcome of the trial and she has planned a celebratory dinner for everyone. I think you’ll find that she will be quite cross if you forget this as well today.” Severus chuckled.

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

* * *

_ That was stupid _ . Harry thought to himself. Then again. And once more. How could he let himself do that? Hary found himself pacing back and forth in his small room. The letter to Flourish and Blotts still sitting on his desk as he had sent Hedwig with a different letter to the Ministry.  _ They could recognize Hedwig! They might not even take the votes! _

Harry had spiraled into a nervous wreck within minutes after watching Hedwig fly off towards London. At the time, he was perfectly calm. He knew what he was going to do. He supposed that he knew that he was going to do it from the moment he learned what the Ministry did to cheat the voting system. Or perhaps,  _ grey eyes _ , it was something else. He shook his head.

No, this went beyond reckless Gryffindor behavior. This was downright self-sabotage. He was underage. The goblins themself said he was only emancipated in the eyes of magic, not the Ministry. Sure, he had been rightfully accepted as the head of the Potter and Black families, but that didn’t mean that he would actually be able to use the sway and seats that came with the titles until his 17th birthday.

Oh, Merlin. What if they figured out that it was him?

Harry paled at the thought.

Suddenly, tapping on his window. Harry stopped his pacing, his entire body stiff as he slowly turned to face his window. There was a large long-horned owl sitting on his window sill. It was watching with what Harry could have sworn were judgmental eyes. His heart dropped as he couldn’t place the owner of the bird.

Was this the Ministry?

His eyes shot down to the letter in its talons. It had a wax seal on it that he did recognize. It was from Hogwarts. The Headmaster. With shaking hands, he walked over and opened the window. The owl swooped in and dropped the letter on his desk and landed next to the parchment.

It seemed like the owl was looking for a response.

Slowly, Harry opened the letter and instantly recognized the flowing script of the Headmaster.

_ Dear Harry, _

_ If it is convenient to you, I shall call at number four, Privet Drive this coming Friday at eleven P.M. to escort you to the Burrow, where you have been invited to spend the remainder of your school holidays. _

_ If you are agreeable, I should also be glad of your assistance in a matter to which I hope to attend on the way to the Burrow. I shall explain this more fully when I see you. _

_ Kindly send your answer by return of this owl. Hoping to see you this Friday, _

_ I am, yours most sincerely, _

_ Albus Dumbledore _

That was it.

There was no mention of the trial, or of any votes that came through at the last moment. Perhaps, Hedwig never made it in time. Maybe they just laughed at his letter and continued on anyways. It was rather dense for him to even expect that they may be taken seriously.

The Headmaster's vague mention of a mysterious errand piqued his interest most definitely, however, that was overshadowed by the relief he felt from the noticeable lack of mentioning the Malfoy’s. Dumbledore would tell Harry if the Malfoy trial went sour, wouldn’t he? 

After all, the blonde did set him up at the Ministry. The Malfoy’s were always out to get Harry and now with Voldemort out in the open, they might try something again. And the Headmaster had seemed very apologetic last year when he admitted to withholding information from Harry. Surely he wouldn’t continue to horde important knowledge from Harry any longer.

His letter was delivered at the end of the day. The trial was long over by now and with the trial being watched so closely by The Order, Dumbledore had to have known what the outcome of the trial was. There was plenty of time to mention it in the letter.

And Harry felt lighter. No matter what the outcome of the trial was, he had  _ tried  _ at the very least. His guilt wouldn’t plague him if Malfoy was carted to Azkaban. He had done all that he was capable of.

With a slight hop in his step, Harry pulled out another piece of parchment and wrote his affirmative to the Headmaster. If the Weasleys wanted to pull Harry away from his relatives, he would be more than happy to oblige them. A quick glance at his calendar showed that Friday was five days away. That would give him five days to figure out how to make his runes work.

He could make that work, Harry decided with determination. He would make that work. As he tied his letter to the owl's foot, he saw another owl swoop into his room out of the corner of his eye. When he turned, he saw that it was Hedwig. Dumbledore's owl flew out the window as he glanced down to see if Hedwig still had his votes.

There was nothing there.

For the second time. Harry’s heart dropped.

Had the letter made it then? If Hedwig had made it in time, what had happened to the letter?

_ It’s alright _ , Harry thought to himself.  _ They probably just threw it away. There is no way that they would take it seriously _ .

That’s right. Just because Hedwig no longer had the letter didn’t mean that they actually counted the last-minute votes. After all, who would believe that any Lord or Lady would  _ mail  _ in their votes for a trial? Could they even count them in an actual trial?

No, you  _ have  _ to be in the courtroom. Don’t you?

Another owl came swooping into his room as he was just calming himself down. He recognized the harness on the owl. In the center was the crest for the Daily Prophet. Harry had been getting the papers from the Prophet throughout the entire summer. Towards the beginning of the summer, the Prophet had mainly been focusing on the return of Voldemort. They tried to spread awareness to the community as well as releasing new mandates from the Ministry. And that was a development in itself. There was a new Minister of Magic. Some guy named Rufus Scrimgeour.

As time went on, however, the Prophet reported on less and less important matters. In fact, Harry believed the latest addition merely commented about the latest meeting between department heads at the Ministry. Now, it looked like the Prophet had something far more pressing than budgets and managerial squabbles to report on.

**_Mystery Votes Ensure Malfoy Lord’s Freedom_ **

The owl had dropped the edition on Harry’s bed before flying back out the window. Hedwig chirped and preened at a delivery well done. The copy of the Prophet seemed to stare back at him as the reality of the situation set it.

Harry couldn’t recall when he made the decision to walk over and pick up the paper. But the next thing he knew, he was quickly reading the column that took up the entire first page.

_ In a mysterious turn of events, Lucius Malfoy, on trial for suspicion for actions against the Ministry during the beginning of the years Death Eater attack. Our readers may remember when the Ministry was stormed in the middle of the night as Death Eaters attempted to steal a prophecy from the Hall of Prophecy as well as capture Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived.  _

_ Our sources suggest that the prophecy in question pertained to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and The-Boy-Who-Lived. This hereby coined Harry Potter's new name, The Chosen One, as many believe that the young Potter is foreseen to be the only one able to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. _

_ The trial that took place this morning was one that the Ministry was confident would put the illegid Death Eater in Azkaban. And it seemed that that was the case. The trial was pushed forward due to scheduling issues, though the Malfoy family and those in attendance made it in time. However, the discussion lasted over two hours and came to a conclusion just after latecomer Arthur Weasly arrived and contributed his vote. The votes were 20 to 21, in favor of finding Malfoy guilty before an unexpected arrival of a Ministry worker interrupted the proceedings. _

_ Michael Horne, a front desk worker for the Ministry, delivered a missive that changed the tide of the voting. The owner of the seats was never revealed, though the votes were confirmed legitimate. At the last moment, the votes in favor of finding Malfoy innocent jumped from a scathingly close 20 to a dominating 30. _

_ This head-spinning turn of events took place quickly. Scrimgeour could be seen heatedly debating with Horne as the audience and even the defendant himself were stunned. Soon after, however, the verdict was called and Lucius Malfoy walked out with his family a free man. _

_ The Family did not comment on the trial and instead left straight away. No other Lord or Lady on the panel was available for comment. No one seemed to know anything about the votes that seemed to just pop into existence right when the Malfoy Lord needed them most. _

_ Could the Slywen Lord have been informed of the trial and mailed in their votes? Though if this was the case, why did they only use ten of their seats? _

_ This writer suggests another alternative entirely. _

_ Perhaps, a new Lord or Lady has taken up the reigns of their house and cast their lot in with the high profile family. Or perhaps, they sided with more than just the Malfoy’s. I urge my readers to watch out, it seems like there is a new wild card in the Ministry’s midst. _

_ Who knows what this means for the reemerging war. Just who is this mysterious voter and what are their intentions for the Wizarding World? This writer is invested in uncovering the truth. _

Harry lowered the paper. He supposed that answered his question. His votes did make it in time. They did count. And Lucius Malfoy was a free man.

Harry turned to look out the window. The great horned owl was long gone now, delivering his response to the Headmaster’s Tower. Completely unaware of the dawning reality that fell over Harry. The trial  _ had  _ gone sour. And Lucius  _ was  _ found innocent.

And the Headmaster hadn’t said a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter my lovelies! The big reveal to Lucius! What did all of you think? What do you think with happen next? Let me know down below. I love reading our comments! I will try to respond to everyone. The next chapter is in the works now!  
> P.S. Disclaimer: The letter from Dumbledore is taken directly from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.

**Author's Note:**

> I try to update weekly but we'll see how long that lasts.
> 
> Please give me a comment! I'd love to hear your feedback!


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